"A NEW ENGLAND SLEIGHING FROLIC 



AND OTHER 



POEMS 



Francis Mores Adlington. 



Edited, with Introduction, by his Daughter, 

i 

AMEY M. HILLYER. 






Boston : 



Frank Wood, Printer, 352 Washington Street. 
1884. 



fS 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by Amey M. Hillyer, 

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 

All rights reserved. 



EDieATI0N. 



IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF MY FATHER, THIS VOLUME OF 

POEMS IS GRA TE FULLY DEDICA TED TO THE KINDRED AND 

FRIENDS WHO HAVE SO CORDIALLY AIDED ME IN 

CARRYING OUT HIS LIFE -LONG WISH. 

— AMEY M. Hillyer. 



Sntnoducti 



on, 



Francis Mores Adlington, the author of these 
poems, was born in Temple Street, Boston, Mass., Dec. 
24, 1789, "just as Christmas Eve was passing over into 
Christmas morning," and died in Weymouth, Mass., on 
Palm Sunday, April 6, 1884. 

His father, Elisha Adlington, was of English birth ; 
his mother, Amey (Mores) Adlington, was of Scotch 
descent. " Both parents handed down traditions of noble 
blood with their family coat of arms." 

His mother was devotedly attached to the Church 
of England, into which Francis Mores was baptized at 
a very early age. It was, therefore, eminently fitting 
that the dear old Mother-Church should give him her 
final benediction at his burial, ninety years afterwards. 

His mother was early left a widow with eleven chil- 
dren, and Frank was placed in the employ of an English 



INTRO D UCTION. 



gentleman, a wholesale merchant in Boston, named 
Rogers. His duties were various and agreeable, but he 
preferred to learn the tailor's trade, and served his 
apprenticeship with Hubbard Oliver. In a tender and 
grateful poem he says of him : — 

"Thou wert a father to my youth, 
A kind and generous friend." 

After setting up in business for himself he married, 
in 1812, Mary Turell, of Boston. She died in 1821. 
In 1824 he moved to Weymouth, and, in 1829, married 
Abigail Whitman Benson, of that town. 

The most marked trait in his character was his 
patriotism. His father's home, in Boston, was the ren- 
dezvous for the old Revolutionary heroes and their fam- 
ilies, and many were the stories related around that old 
hearth, which were listened to by attentive ears, and 
which inspired his boyish heart with an undying love 
of country. When the Nation called, in 1812, for aid 
to protect her sons on the seas, he eagerly sprang for- 
ward, the only volunteer in his company ; and although 
in our late sad Civil War he was too old to go himself, his 
spirit had so inspired his sons that all four volunteered. 
The first to enlist was Scott, his youngest-born, who 
died, soon after the first battle of Bull Run, from dis- 
ease caused by exposure and hardship. 

The oldest son, Henry, was the next to fall. He had 
remarkable powers of endurance, and used facetiously 



INTRODUCTION. v ii 



to write home : " I am something like a camel ; when 
I have anything to eat, I eat it, and when I haven't I 
go without." Out of a whole regiment, he was one of 
seven who stacked arms after a long and wearisome 
march. He was taken prisoner and sent to Richmond, 
where he was offered good wages and rations if he would 
stay and work at his trade, that of a shoemaker, for the 
rebels. He said, " No ; I will die first." He was sent to 
Salisbury Prison, N. C, and in one month's time died 
of starvation. " These were the times that tried men's 
souls." 

The third son, Stephen, died soon after peace was 
declared — the sad sequel of war showing as many vic- 
tims as the bloody battle-fields. 

The only surviving son, Alfred, served in the Mass- 
achusetts Heavy Artillery. 

The author's religious belief was broad and catholic. 
He trusted in " God as the Father of all, whose loving- 
kindness knows no end." His faith in Him was bound- 
less. He inherited from his parents a bonny spirit. 
The storms and trials of life never quenched his unfail- 
ing cheerfulness, nor caused a gloom to settle for any 
length of time upon his face. "Nil desperandum" was 
his motto through life. His temper was fiery, and 
sometimes uncontrolled, but his disposition was kind and 
loving ; his manners those of the old-school gentleman, — 
courtly and refined. 

His Scotch blood was shown in his fondness for home 



IN TROD UCTION. 



I only know it is filled with sweeter memories for me 
than any other ; so I leave with you this cluster of 

" Words that gush freely and warm from the heart, 
Untrimmed of their beauty by fashion or art," 

and hope they may be a joy to you, as they have been 
to me. 

A. M. H. 



STENTS. 



Page 

AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION xvii 

HYMNS. 

His Precious Name is Love 3 

Hymn of Thanksgiving 4 

The Birth of Christ 5 

Bright Minstrels 5 

Let there be Light . 7 

Truth 8 

Christian Confidence and Peace 8 

Sabbath Morn 10 

Come to the Altar of our Lord 10 

Trust 12 

Love the Lord 13 

We Cannot See Our Father . . . . . . 14 

God has been Here 15 

Man has no Dwelling Here 17 

Hark ! Again the Angel Throng ! 18 

To Mr. 19 

JUDAH 22 

Right and Wrong 23 



MISCELLANEOUS. 
Introduction 
View of Boston Common 
A Yankee Notion 
Monatiquot 
To-morrow 
To Poverty 
The Exile 
St. Helena 



27 
29 
32 
38 
39 
41 
42 

43 



CONTENTS. 



MISCELLANEOUS — Continued. 

Winter Scene at Weymouth 44 

The Answer 46 

Beside the Wood • . 47 

Adieu to My Harp 50 

Memory 51 

Friendship 52 

Never Say Die 54 

Know-Nothing 55 

Give Me the Wild Notes 58 

A New England Sleighing Frolic 58 

The Sanctum of Love; or, Home and Hearth . . 61 

The Storm 63 

The Yankee 65 

Corn-Husking in New England 66 

To the Moon ' 70 

Who'll Mourn for Me? 71 

The First White Hair ....... 72 

Fireman's Song . . 73 

I'm not a Non-resistant 75 

To the Morning Star 76 

Lines to my Brother 76 

Ruffian Soldiers 78 

Gee Up ! 79 

The Tailor 81 

All Alone 83 

Alone — Alone! 84 

Three Warnings 85 

Aphorisms 86 



LOVE AND KINDRED SUBJECTS. 



The Old Man's Soliloquy 91 

Another Jewel Gone 92 

My Mother - 93 

Remembrance 94 

Jack's Hard Parting 95 

Ruth to Naomi 96 

Kisses 97 

To Miss 98 

Some Thirty Years Ago ici 



CONTEXTS. 



LOVE AND KINDRED SUBJECTS — Continued. 
I only Know I Love Her .... 

Owen 

The Forsaken 

Song — The Cataract 

Woman 

Where Now are the Lads and Lasses ? . 
Flowers as well as Thorns 

Queen Victoria 

Mary 

Avaunt, Despair ! 

Woman Compared with the Months 

Beauty 

To J. D 

I Remember 

The Lassie of Monatiquot 

Retrospective 

My Own 

Woman's Love 

Woman 

Where Love is not, there is no Home 



i 02 
103 
104 
105 
107 
109 
no 
in 
112 

"3 
114 
117 
118 
118 
119 
121 
122 
123 
124 
125 



PERSONAL. 

On William Lloyd Garrison 

John Brown .... 

Lines on the Hero Lawrence 

President James Monroe 

The Three-cornered Hat 

To John G. Whittif.r . 

John G. Whittier . 

Mrs. Harriet Heecher Stowe 

Freeman Hunt 
•** Freeman Hunt 

To George Peabody 

The Man who, though Little, is 

Hubbard Oliver 

Dr. Noah Fifield . 

Rev. Jonas Perkins 

Miss M. T 

Miss Susan Tufts . 



(]kK 



129 
131 
•33 
133 
135 
136 
137 
138 
139 
141 
142 

143 
144 

145 
146 

147 
148 



xiv CONTENTS. 



PERSONAL — Continued. 

GlLMAN COLLAMORE, ESQ. 149 

Miss Nancy Bradley 150 

A Tribute to a Soldier 151 

Stephen S. Adlington 152 

Walter Scott Adlington 153 

The Young Volunteer 156 

To the Memory of the Brave 157 

PATRIOTIC. 

Ode for the Fourth of July, 1818 163 

Anniversary Ode 165 

Ye Olden Time 166 

Ode for the Washington Society 168 

Fourth of July, 1842 170 

Independent Day 170 

Ode Written for Independent Day, 1875 . . . . 172 

Old England 174 

Mother and Daughter 174 

Our Fathers' Legacy 175 

Our Fathers 177 

Flag Song of Triumph 179 

All Hail to our Country 180 

My Native Land 181 

My Country 183 

Our Union 186 

"Our Country, Wrong or Right" 187 

America 189 

John Bull and Uncle Sam 191 

On the Impressment of American Seamen . . . 193 

Sailor's Rights 194 

Patriotic Song 196 

Congratulatory 197 

Consul Meade . 198 

Song (Sung at the Anniversary of the Worcester Light Infantry) 200 

The Citizen Soldier 201 

The Old Soldier's Petition 203 

The Soldiers and Sailors of 1812-15 .... 204 

New England War-cry ....... 205 

Now's the Time; be Up and Doing ..... 206 



CONTENTS. 



PATRIOTIC — Continued. 

We are Coming 207 

Fight on for Liberty 209 

Shall we Forget Them? Never! 211 

Decoration Day, 1874 214 

Old Erin Awake ! 215 

The Flag of our Nation 216 

ANTI-SLAVERY. 

Were I a Yankee Maiden 223 

Ladies' Anti-Slavery Fair 224 

Slavery 226 

The Fugitive Slave 227 

The Escape of the Hunted Slave 230 

Emancipation 231 

Abolition of Slavery in the West Indies . . . 233 

Abolition of Slavery in the East Indies . . . 235 

Freedom 236 

TEMPERANCE. 

Cold Water 241 

There Came for the Pledge 242 

The Sword its Many Thousands Slays .... 244 

Elvira 245 

Throuch all our wild Rambles 247 

The Poor, Lone, Orphan Boy 249 

Wirt 250 

The Mourning Wife 251 

Tea-Party Song 252 

Sure, Won't You Hear? 253 

The Mother's Curse 257 

The Mother 260 



utpor s ontroducti 



on. 



Is this a poet's harp of mine, 

Where rude, unstudied wild notes play ? 
To me it seems a harp divine — 

But what will Mrs. Grundy say ? 
Hear me, old beldame ! from my youth 

I've sung as Nature stirred my veins, 
Not asking thee, but only truth, 

To give the key-note to my strains. 
I sought no polish, learned no art; 

My wild notes, of the wildest kind, 
Came freely ringing from my heart — 

I simply sung or spoke my mind : 
Of statesmen, heroes, kings, and priests ; 

Of patriots and of traitors sung ; 
Of scenes where glowing Fancy feasts ; 

Or where my heart-strings fondly clung. 
My fate was with the poor, untaught ; 

To earn my bread my daily lot ; 
My muse, a native, came unsought, 

To cheer me in my humble cot. 



AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION. 



My heart was with the poor and brave, 

Who struggled that they might be free. 
My prayer was for the toiling slave ; 

My idols, Love and Liberty. 
My country evermore was dear ; 

No traitor thoughts e'er crossed my brain : 
I loved her with a soul sincere 

As ever breathed a patriot strain. 
Time passes ; I am aged, now ; 

But ere the Reaper claims his prey, 
Of my wild carols I would know 

What now will Mrs. Grundy say ? 
Her verdict is not always just, 

But from it there's but one appeal — 
Time, that performs a sacred trust, 

Reviews and sets a final seal. 
So, Mrs. Grundy, though unschooled 

In flat'ry, I address you now : 
Though you have fooled, and been befooled, \ 

I tread your courts, and make my bow. 



His P 



recious 



ame is 



b 



ove. 



There's One my soul desires, 
Whose dwelling is above : 

There's One my soul admires, 
Whose precious name is Love — 

A love that knows no changing, 

A love that has no end, 
Through all creation ranging, 

To every one a Friend. 

"With cords of love I'll draw thee," 

I hear my Father say : 
" To cleanse thee and restore thee, 

I'll blot thy sins away, 

"No more to be remembered ; 
The ransomed soul set free, 
From sinful flesh dismembered, 
To ever dwell with Me." 



Unnumbered hosts are meeting ; 

From every clime they come, 
With songs of gladness greeting, 

For God has called them home. 



HYMNS. 



No voice is heard of sadness, 
In His bright home above, 

But peace, and joyful gladness, 
With Him whose name is Love. 



Dec. 9, li 



Mymn of (^anksaivinn. 



To Him who was dead, yet in heaven is living, 

To Him who died for us, we offer thanksgiving. 

Oh, praised be His name who the death-bands hath riven, 

And opened for sinners a pathway to heaven ! 

With hearts full of love, by His mercy recovered 
From sin's thorny path, where the death-angel hovered, 
We lift our glad voices, in humble endeavor 
To praise Him whom God hath exalted forever. 

Now swell the loud anthem, awake the sweet timbrels, 
Blow, blow the shrill trumpets, and strike the bold cymbals, 
To Jesus, the conq'ror o'er death's gloomy regions, 
To Jesus, the Saviour of earth's ransomed legions. 

The heavens shall echo, the angels shall listen, 
The stars at His name with new luster shall glisten, 
While His and our Father looks down from above, 
And unites in the praise of the child of His love. 



THE BIRTH OF CHRIST. 



\)Q tjintr) of Or) 



nsi 



Give me, my God, the seraph's voice 
To sing my faithful Saviour's worth : 

Bid the united world rejoice 

With songs of everlasting truth ! 

Hark ! on the breeze, methinks, I hear 
The harps of heaven to music wake. 

Dear Father, let them sound more near, 
Till earth to its foundations shake. 

Bright morning, hail ! the Saviour's birth 
Gives the despairing sinner hope. 

Bow down, ye heavens ; and thou, O earth, 
To grace the princely Victor, stoop ! 

For you He lived, for you He died, 
For you He kindly intercedes ; 

By His own virtue deified, 

At God's right hand for you He pleads. 



ISriaQt rffeinstrei 



s. 



(Christmas Hymn. Tune — " America.") 

Bright minstrels, who to earth 
Announced our Saviour's birth, 
In words of love, 



HYMNS. 

Again your voices raise, 
And, with our humble lays, 
Mingle the note of praise 
To Christ above. 

For us He left the skies, 
A willing sacrifice, — 

Our gen'rous Friend : 
All hail the jubilee ! 
Where Christian altars be, 
Our Saviour, Lord, to thee 

Let praise ascend. 

Loved image of thy Sire, 
While all the angelic choir 

Thy name adore, 
May grateful mortals bring 
An off'ring to their King, 
Pure hearts thy praise to sing 

Forevermore. 

Oh, blessed be His name 
Who bore the sinners' shame, 

And made them free. 
Praise to the faithful Friend. 
Whose mercies know no end ; 
Let heartfelt thanks ascend, 

Dear Lord, to thee. 



1851. 



LET THERE BE LIGHT. 



Qet tr)ere be Qiarjt. 



'Twas night ; the world in darkness lay ; 
Chaotic earth had known no day. 
The voice of God the planet shakes — 
" Let there be light" — the morning breaks. 
Oh scene sublime, when radiant skies 
First opened to the angels' eyes ! 

"The morning stars together sang ; " 

The arch of heaven with music rang ; 

The angelic choir lift up their voice ; 
"The sons of God with shouts rejoice." 

But hark! their golden harps are thrown 

Aside for notes of sweeter tone. 

God speaks — when, at His great command, 
Appears the dry and fruitful land ; 
The parted waters, trembling, flee, 
And broadly rolls the teeming sea. 
Aloft in air bright clouds appear, 
And all are echoing, " God is here ! " 

Ah ! well might angels joy to view 

The bright, green earth, the sky's clear blue, 

The rising sun's resplendent light, 

And all things beautiful and bright ; 

While hill to hill, across the flood, 

Repeats God's words, that all is good. 

Feb. 21, 1843. 



HYMNS. 



(^rutj?. 



Men will applaud you when you think and act 

As they would have you ; but diverge a mite, 
They will denounce you — you will be attacked, 

No matter whether you are wrong or right. 
Trust not too much for others to advise ; 

Use your own mind ; be prompt to duty's call ; 
Know that the wisest are not always wise ; 

Let conscience guide, whatever may befall. 
Some will commend you, some will take offense ; 

Let nothing move you from your honest way ; 
There is a triumph yet for common sense, 

For truth, the promise of a brighter day. 
Though modest Truth in pigmy form appears, 

And speaks as soft as is an infant's sigh, 
Yet has she strength that giant Error fears, 

A voice to silence e'en the loudest lie. 

June 9, 1847. 



'Qristian Oonfidence and I 



eace. 



(Tune — Auld Lang Syne.) 

How happy is the Christian's heart ! 

No gloomy doubts has he ; 
In song or prayer he takes his part, 

Confiding, Lord, in thee : 



CHRISTIAN CONFIDENCE AND PEACE. 

Confiding, Lord, in thee for good, 

Confiding, Lord, in thee ; 
In prayer or praise he takes his part, 

Confiding, Lord, in thee. 

The sorrows which he used to know 

'Midst Superstition's night, 
Have fled before the cheering glow 

Of radiant gospel light : 
Of radiant gospel light divine, 

Of radiant gospel light ; 
His doubts and fears have fled before 

The radiant gospel light. 

When tried amid afflicting scenes 

Of sickness, grief, and care, 
On God's eternal love he leans, 

And yields not to despair : 
And yields not to despair his hopes, 

And yields not to despair ; 
On God's eternal love he leans, 

And yields not to despair. 

Assured that He who came to save, 

His mission will fulfill, 
Like Peter on the faithless wave, 

He trusts the Saviour still : 
He trusts the Saviour still to save, 

He trusts the Saviour still ; 
Convinced himself he cannot save, 

He trusts the Saviour still. 



10 HYMNS. 



ibbatb FR 



orn. 



Even in our solitude praise we the Lord, 

Where the harp and the viol are not : 
Our hearts with the wild notes of nature accord, 

And the Author is never forgot. 

When zephyrs are kissing the rose of the vale, 
The sweet fringe of the frolicksome rill, 

We drink the rich odors that float on the gale, 
And our bosoms with gratitude fill. 

And when the red lightning is rending the oak, 

We shrink not disheartened away ; 
'Twas the voice of our Father, in thunder, that spoke, 

And commands us with rev'rence t' obey. 

The morn of each Sabbath the cheering bell's sound 

Invites to the Ancient of Days : 
Our hearts to the echo with gratitude bound, 

And we love to unite in His praise. 



>ome 



to \\)Q Hilar of our Qord. 



(Tune — Iola.) 

Come to the altar of our Lord, 
Whose emblem is the dove, 



COME TO THE ALTAR OF OUR LORD. \\ 

And tune your hearts with one accord 
To Him whose name is Love, 
To Him whose name is Love. 

How pleasant 'tis, assembled here, 

To call Him by his name, 
And know that all our souls are dear 

To Him who bore our shame, 

To Him who bore our shame. 

To feel that all of Adam's race 

Are brethren in the Lord ; 
That all shall see the Saviour's face, 

According to His word, 

According to His word. 

Come to His altar, brethren all ; 

None are excluded here : 
Obey your gen'rous Saviour's call, 

And love shall banish fear, 

And love shall banish fear. 

Lift up the trumpet loud and shrill, 

And waft its notes above, 
Till echo cries from every hill, 

Our God — our God is love ; 

Our God — our God is love. 



12 HYMNS. 



Til 



St. 



Though poverty don't make a poet, 

With some exceptions, here and there, 
The class is famed — the records show it — 

For seldom having cash to spare. 
Who ever saw a poet fat ? 

Not theirs the aldermanic form : 
The threadbare coat and napless hat 

Is still the poet's uniform. 

The poets always have been poor, 

And I am poor, as Job's old turkey : 
My time-worn boat must keep in shore, 
And breast the saucy waves no more. 

What follows, then ? Must I be murky ? 
Not I ; for if I may not sail, 

I'll paddle close along life's river. 
Then, if my efforts won't avail, 
I know a Friend who will not fail, 

And He's to all a generous giver. 

He gave me life, and, good or ill, 

Whatever ups or downs o'ertake me, 
His sacred promise He'll fulfill, 
" Fear not, for I am with thee still," 

He said ; " I never will forsake thee." 
There is a Pilot at the helm. 

In faith regard His words, and learn ye 
That He controls this mighty realm, 
"The waters shall not thee o'erwhelm," 

And through the fire, it shall not burn thee. 



LOVE THE LORD. 13 



Thus far His promise has been true ; 

I've 'gainst the elements contended, 
Have been both fire and water through, 
And kept His promise still in view, 

And He has still my life defended. 
In faith I hold His promise fast, 

And will, while I have life and reason. 
I'll nail my colors to the mast, 
And patient bide the driving blast, 

With hope, through his appointed season. 

The timid weakling may despair, 

But better far the firm endeavor 
For what may happen to prepare ; 
Suppose the worst — e'en that to dare, 

And bend the neck to fortune never. 
Huzza ! aloft my colors fly ; 

Misfortune, I'm prepared to meet thee : 
My motto never to say die, 
But try again, and try, and try, 

And faith, Misfortune, I shall beat thee. 

Nov. 12, 1870. 



Qove tr>e Liorcl. 



" Love the Lord ! " our teachers cry. 
Love him, teachers ? Tell me why. 
Is it that we here are found 
Lab'ring on the rich man's ground — 
From the cradle to the grave, 
Toiling, toiling like the slave ? — 



14 HYMNS. 

Suffering sickness, want, and pain, 
Ever toiling still in vain, 
Flouted by the rich and proud, 
Jostled by the thoughtless crowd ? — 
Subject to the cold world's frown, 
Not a foot of earth our own, 
Where we may unchallenged tread, 
Or unlicensed earn our bread ? — 
All that God has made so fair, 
Fraud, and force, and cunning share. 
For a life precarious lent, 
Must we say we are content ? 
Victims of the plague and sword, 
Must we praise and love the Lord ? 

Yes, for know His promise sure — 
All who faithful shall endure, 
In a better world than this 
Reap the joys of endless bliss. 
Time shall pass, like night, away, 
Ush'ring in eternal day : 
Patient bear life's transient ill, 
Love the Lord, and trust him still. 



We Ocmnot <^)ee Our Pair) 

We cannot see our Father — 
Our eyes are all too dim ; 

Nor can our fancies gather 
A form denoting Him. 



GOD HAS BEEN HERE. 15 

Yet His loved voice is near us 

Where'er our footsteps rove ; 
It whispers He can hear us, 

And tells us He is love. 

Within, around, above us, 

His works are felt and seen, 
Convincing He must love us, 

Or thus they had not been. 

Had all His fruits been hateful, 

Did all we touch give pain ; 
Were ev'ry view deceitful, 

And jargon ev'ry strain ; 

Were ev'ry flower that sprouted 

A stench within the grove, — 
Ah ! then we might have doubted 

If God indeed were love. 

But thanks to Thee, our Father, 
Thy works Thy goodness prove ; 

And while Thy sweets we gather, 
We feel that Thou art love. 



V3[od qqs been \\ 



ere. 



There is a wise and mighty one, 
His works around are seen ; 

And everything we look upon 
Proclaims He here has been. 



16 HYMNS. 

To me, it seems the quiet earth 
On which we thoughtless tread, 

In whispers now ascribes its birth 
To God, who gives me bread. 

The flowers that blossom in the field, 
Though springing from the sod, 

Bear witness, while their sweets they yield, 
They are the gift of God. 

Each little shrub whose leaf-clothed arms 

Amidst the sunbeams play, 
The mem'ry of a God embalms, 

That light and heat obey. 

The water in the little brook — 

What is it ? I inquire. 
In vain I read the chemist's book ! 

What's water ? what is fire ? 

We know them only by the name, 

Yet need them ev'ry hour ; 
And these in thunder tones proclaim 

A wise and mighty power. 

Have they intelligence ? can they 

Go forth or come at will ? 
No ; there's a Power they did obey 

That can control them still. 

This hand, so cunningly contrived, 

So wond'rously designed, 
Were proof, if that alone survived, 

Of superhuman mind. 



MAN HAS NO DWELLING HERE. 17 

A greater than these eyes have seen 

Its Architect must be ; 
Its mighty Author must have been 

A Father kind to me. 

Yes, ev'rything that meets the eye 

Declares there is a God, 
From the bright worlds that deck the sky 

To this unfinished clod. 



an has no Lywemnq f lere 



H, 



There is no land the eye can trace, 

No spot, however dear, 
Where man can fix a dwelling-place 

And say, My home is here. 

The earthquake's voice may warning give, 
The whirlwind sweep it clear ; 

Earth has no place where man can live 
And say, My home is here. 

The strongest tower may be o'erthrown 

That mortal hands can rear : 
Man has no place to call his own 

And say, My home is here. 



18 HYMNS. 



The sunlit hill, the shaded glen, 
The lightning both can sear : 

There is no place on earth where men 
Can say, Our home is here. 

The deepest mine is no defense, — 
The fire-damp slumbers near : 

A breath may warn its tenants thence ■ 
Man has no dwelling here. 

But there's a place beyond the skies 

The Saviour will prepare : 
The pure in heart can lift their eyes 

And say, Our home is there. 



arr? ! aaain trje dnael feprona ! 



(Christmas Hymn.) 

Hark ! again the angel throng 

Seem above our heads to sing, 
While their music floats along, 

Making heaven's high arches ring-: 
Peace on earth, to men good-will ! 
Sounds of gladness floating still. 

Years on years have passed away 
Since that ever-honored morn ; 
Still we hear the angels say, 



TO MR. . 19 

Peace on earth ! the Christ is born. 
Round the world the echo flies, 
Echoed by the listening skies. 

Favored mortals, who believe 

Jesus came the world to save, 
Gave his life that you might live, 
Died to triumph o'er the grave, 
Loud the grateful anthem raise, 
Glory to our Saviour's praise ! 

Spread the joyous tidings round 

With the holy day's return ; 
Far as earth's extremest bound 
Let the distant heathen learn, 
Till is heard from every voice, 
Christ is born ; rejoice ! rejoice ! 



Believest thou the Eternal will 

Consign a soul to hell, 
And can'st thou hope, while doubting still, 

All with thee will be well ? 

How knowest thou the Eternal's mind, 
Or that thou sharest His grace ? 

How darest thou hope in heaven to find 
At last a resting-place ? 



20 ■ HYMNS. 

If one, if only one, be lost, 
What proof thou art not he ? 

Wilt thou, presumptuous sinner, boast 
That there are worse than thee ? 

The best that e'er as man was known, 
That e'er on earth has trod, 

Declared that none were good, save one 
That one the Eternal God. 

Thy debt, perhaps, thou thinkest light, 
When with some brother's weighed ; 

But He who holds the scales aright, 
Knows all things He has made. 

Some, reared and taught by pious men, 
Pass saintly on their way ; 

Some, born within the pirate's den, 
Are taught to rob and slay. 

Had these a different culture proved, 
The saint, perhaps, had been 

A fiend ; the thief a saint beloved : 
God sees behind the screen. 

If one be lost thy chance is small, 
Though millions round thee stand : 

One righteous God has made them all 
And holds them in his hand. 

If one be cast to endless woe, 

How can I trust in thee, 
My God, since none on earth can know 

But that one I may be ! 



TO MR. . 21 

Or if another, his dread cries, 

His agonizing groan, 
Would make a discord in the skies, 

And shake the eternal throne, 

No longer with the angelic choir 

Would Mercy's plaudits swell ; 
But Echo, on her sounding lyre, 

Would ring the cries of hell. 

Is this the place that Christians love, 

Where Mercy forth is driven ? 
Is this the mansion of the Dove, 

The Saviour's boasted heaven ? 

Ah no! if sympathy be there, 

If charity endure, 
Our souls shall witness no despair 

That mercy will not cure. 

The Saviour's hand from every eye 

Shall wipe away the tear ; 
Shall stifle ev'ry rising sigh, 

And quiet every fear ; 

While ransomed millions gather round 

To praise the sinner's Friend, 
And heaven re-echoes with the sound, 
" Thy mercy has no end." 

Nov. 10, 1849. 



22 HYMNS. 



udar). 



& 



Shall Judah's sons, though scattered wide, 
And crushed to earth by countless ills, 

Like worthless chaff be cast aside, 
Far, far away from Judah's hills, 

Forever, say, forever? 

And shall Jehovah's promise made 

To Abram, Isaac, Jacob, fail ; 
Shall all the Heaven-wrought visions fade, 

While Judah's daughters weep and wail, 
Forever, say, forever ? 

Ah no ! the promise of their God 
Will gather Judah's scattered race, 

Redeem the desecrated sod, 
And purify the holy place, 

Forever, aye, forever. 

Again shall Judah's hills resound 

With shouts of joy, and songs of praise ; 

The dead shall live ; the lost be found ; 
And God will justify his ways 

Forever, aye, forever. 



May 27, 1870. 



RIGHT AND WRONG. 23 



l\igr)t and Wroru 



Right is right, and wrong is wrong, 
By whomsoever done — 
By the magnificent and strong, 
Or weak and lowly one. 

Might gives no right to do a wrong : 
Not to the mightiest of the strong 
Does the impossible belong — 
The right to do another wrong. 

Shall we impute to the Most High 
An act that none could justify, 
And then, in common, sense despite 
Say that the glaring wrong is right ? 

" All souls are mine," Jehovah said : 
The weakest soul that He has made, 
Howe'er transgressing and defiled, 
Belongs to God — it is His child. 

In His own image it was made, 
And still it bears its Father's seal : 
No hostile power can make it fade, 
Or make His signet's stamp unreal. 

And will He cast His own away, 
Neglectful of a Father's care, 
Doomed everlastingly to stay 
In agonizing, dread despair ? 



24 HYMNS. 

Believe it not ; it is a lie, 
Framed to dishonor the Most High, 
And lead poor worms, to 'scape the rod, 
To feign a love through fear of God. 

For who could love a tyrant power, 
Who on their heads might ruin shower, 
Or doom the friends they loved so well, 
To never-ending, burning hell ? 

April 26, 1879. 



introduction t< 



iscellaneous 



p 



oems. 



I was born in the City of Notions ; 

My father, a barber, d'ye see, 
Took part in those fearful commotions, 

That made this the land of the free. 
The Britons he took by their noses, 

And lathered them up to the eyes ; 
With powder not scented with roses, 

He gave them a dressing, likewise. 
My mother was Scottish descended, 

My father of English extract, 
And when the two races are blended, 

They make the real Yankee in fact. 
Yankee's * the Indian for English, — 

I'm proud of the title I own ; 
Nor would I its honors relinquish, 

For all in the gift of a throne. 
Since six years of age I have struggled, 

Sometimes most severely, for bread ; 



* The Indians called the English Yankish ; hence, Yankies Yankees. 



28 MISCELLANEOUS. 

What little I know has been smuggled 

Clandestinely into my head. 
A tailor, a soldier, a trader, 

I bustled along with the crowd ; 
Dame Fortune, I never obeyed her — 

Of course I was never endowed. 
She urged me to carry two faces, 

To speak what my heart must deny ; 
I could not acquire those graces, 

And therefore bade Fortune good-bye. 
'Tis fifty long years since to rhyming 

I took, in the natural way ; 
Sometimes with adversity chiming, 

Sometimes with the happy and gay. 
And now my white hairs are increasing ; 

Time flies since the first I could tell ; 
■ But as there of life is no leasing, 

Ere long I must bid you farewell. 
Then farewell each sister and brother, 

And every loved object adieu. 
New England, my idolized mother, 

My heart never wandered from you. 



VIEW OF BOSTON COMMON. 29 



Yiew of Dost 



oslon uommon, 



(Written a long time ago by the Author, then a Boston boy.) 

I sat me on the wishing-stone, * 

And gazed upon the scenery 'round ; 

'Twas early day, and I, alone, 
Sweet solitude delightful found. 

I gazed upon the steeplef tall, 
1 That lifts its towering head on high ; 
The firm-built fabric, tap'ring small, 
A pillar seemed, to prop the sky. 

The stately dwellings wealth had raised 
Next met my view, and thus I said : 
" Though high by human pride appraised, 
Your beauties all must fade. 

" Though firm your fixed foundations stand, 
And seem at Time to mock, 
The house that 's built upon the sand 
Cannot the floods of heaven withstand, 
Like that upon the rock." 



* A large rock on the high land of the Common, long since removed. 
The school-boys were in the habit of dancing around it, ascending to the top 
and wishing, and sometimes their wishes would be gratified — hence its name. 

t Park Street Church, — then being finished. 



30 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Each lofty tree whose spreading boughs 

A cooling shade afford, 
Its great Creator's power avows, 

And owns its sovereign Lord. 

The smooth, green plain, the distant hills, 

My Father's goodness prove ; 
And my glad heart with pleasure fills 

With gratitude and love. 

On this still morn the waveless stream 

Now meets my roving eye, — 
The mirror to each starry beam 

That sparkles from the sky. 

And now the burial-ground appears : 
There rest, in silent peace, the dead ; 

How often in my infant years, 

I 've shunned the mournful place with dread. 

There lie the relics of my friends, 

Their coverlid the grassy sod ; 
There, dust with dust incorporate blends — 

The spirits rise to meet their God. 

Now comes the glorious light of heaven, 
Sol's radiant car, impetuous driven 

High o'er the flitting clouds : 
On yonder glittering vane, behold 
His burning light, where thinnest gold « 

A baser substance shrouds. 



VIEW OF BOSTON COMMON. 31 

'Tis like that kind of charity 
Which bad men use for policy, 

To shield them from disgrace : 
'Tis like a whited sepulchre, 
Where all without looks fair and pure, 

"While all within is base. 

Now, as to gaze, I turn me round, 
An ancient dwelling meets my view : 

There Hancock dwelt, the statesman sound, 
The patriot to his country true. 

And now the State House dome I see, 

And see it with a freeman's pride: 
There stands the proof that I am free, 

For there our chosen men decide 

On what is just, and fit, and good 

To benefit the Commonwealth ; 
From my infantile days 't has stood 

A monument of freedom's health. 

Ye honored halls, where graybeards join 
To guard what youthful courage gains, 

Bright may your lamps of honor shine, 
'Till earth from its foundation wanes. 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



Y anl?ee \% 



oTion. 



(Written soon after the Battle of Navarino.) 

Think not because we're Yankees born 

We love no other nation, 
Or that we look with peevish scorn 

On those in lower station. 
We dearly prize our liberty, 

And bravely we '11 defend it ; 
But then to other lands, d'y' see, 

We'd really like to send it. 

Uncle Sam 's a friend to all, 

To all the folks in Nature ; 
But kinder feels a little tall, 

And knows there 's nothing greater. 
So push about the Yankee toast, 
" Here's luck to all creation ; " 
For though we love our own the most, 

We've love for every nation. 

And, firstly, there 's our Fatherland, 

With all its faults unmended ; 
It makes us feel a little grand 

To think how we descended. 
For little Vic, we like her well, 

The while she keeps in order ; 
But then, she mus' n't think to tell 

Of cap'ring round the border. 



A YANKEE NOTION. 33 

We give the hand to gallant France, 

And wish her comfort doubled ; 
For us she raised her victor lance 

When we were sort o' troubled. 
Of Bonaparte, the cowards' spoil, 

The idol France elected, 
His ashes yet shall guard the soil 

His courage long protected. 

To Spain and Holland both we owe 

A well-remembered favor ; 
And toward them both I guess we'll show 

The proper kind of 'havior. 
But when folks make a deuced fuss 

'Bout who shall be their ruler, 
We kindly tell them, copy us, 

And keep a little cooler. 

Of Belgium I little know, 

But fear she needs defending : 
Alike she bleeds from friend and foe 

When Europe is contending. 
Ah ! when will men compassion learn 

From Him whose blood has freed them ? 
The bad His heavenly precepts spurn, 

The best too little heed them. 

Of Germany, the learned and vain, 

I scarce know where to find her ; 
She's such a kind of tangled skein 

'Tis a puzzle to unwind her. 



34 MISCELLANEOUS. 

I only guess she would be free 
If it should come in fashion ; 

But wake the cry of liberty, 
And Germany would dash on. 

The Switzer, from his mountain field, 

Looks proudly o'er the valley ; 
Here Freedom lifts her jeweled shield, 

And here her children rally. 
The sea may o'er her valleys roll, 

Her mountains be dismembered, 
But while there lives one free-born soul, 

Brave Tell shall be remembered. 

How long, Italia, oh how long 

Shall silken chains confine thee? 
Awake to Freedom's rousing song, 

And let not Sloth supine thee ! 
I never yet have been in Rome, 

Though long the Pope has waited : 
He favors kissing — /do, some ; 

This proves we are related. 
But if I should a cous'ning go 

Perhaps 'twould move his laughter, 
For if he offered me his toe 
To kiss, I 'd tell him, Father, no ; 

I 'd rather kiss your daughter. 

How fares it, brother Ishmael, 
The gallant desert rover ? 

As free as is the wild gazelle, 
And jealous as a lover, 



A YANKEE NOTION. 35 

Proud France can never conquer thee, 

Though half the world abet her; 
Brave Ishmael's arm£d hand is free, 

And spurns the Gallic fetter. 

In Egypt something you may trace 

Of those who used to fool it : 
"The kingdom always will be base," 

Whatever chief may rule it. 
Of plagues before, they had their share, 

Sufficient to content 'em ; 
They 've now the Lion * and the Bear j- — 

I guess that mammon sent 'em. 

Of Greece I hardly dare to note, 

Since I have heard a rumor 
A fellow lived there once who wrote — 

I think his name was Homer ; 
And as he was a fighting chap, 

And something sort o' knowing, 
I fear his ghost might burst its trap, 

And give my muse a blowing. 

Of Turkey — what a Yankee name, 

And coupled with Thanksgiving — 
Their fellows, to a chick, are game, 

So let them have a living. 
Of Mahomet they long have dreamed, 

Their idol and their terror ; 
But when the press their brains have steamed 

They '11 wake, and find their error. 

* England. t Russia. 



36 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The Indies, — Heaven defend the mark,— 

John Bull, what are you doin' ? 
You 've scarcely left them half a sark, — 

I fear you '11 prove their ruin. 
Not all the wealth in all their mines 

Can satisfy your craving ; 
Beneath your rule all India pines — 

You play the devil at shaving. 

The great Celestial Emperor 

Is vexed with your terrestrials ! 
Vy, Vic, vy vot a vitch you are, 

To vor vith the Celestials ! 
They do not like your nasty drug ; * 

And if you try to make 'em, 
They '11 give you such an Indian hug 

You '11 wish you hadn't waked 'em. 
O Asia ! what a wretched place 

Since, by his heavenly warden, 
The father of our sinful race 

Was thrust from Eden's garden. 

The Russian, in his whiskered pride, 

'S a kind o' clever fellow ; 
His courage never yet denied, 

Especially when " mellow " ; 
But let him mind his own estate, 

Nor outrage Freedom's charter, 
Or he may find, when 'tis to late, 

That he has caught a tartar. 

* Opium. 



A YANKEE NOTION: 37 

Now bounce we back again once more 

To Denmark, Norway, Sweden ; 
And here we find the people poor, — 

They never had an Eden. 
Yet there they smile amidst their toil, 

And dance to pipe and tabor, 
And battle for a rugged soil, 

That scarce repays their labor. 

And now for dear America 

I take my ocean journey ; 
What 's doing at the South, I pray ? 

Can any one discern — hey ? 
Contending for they know not what, 

And murdering one another, 
I wish their demagogues were shot 

For making such a smother. 
The land is beautifully fair, 

The people want converting : 
We '11 send some missionaries there 

To stop their bloody flirting. 

But I am safe at home ag'in, 

And nation glad am I, too ; 
I hardly think 'twould be a sin 

If I for joy should cry, too. 
There 's sorrow everywhere but here, 

And here it 's all caressing ; 
I'd whip the dog who shed a tear 

Unmindful of his blessing. 



3 8 MIS CELL AN EO US. 



New England — land that gave me birth' 

I cannot overrate her ; 
A single rood of Yankee earth 

'S worth all the rest in nature. 



onatiquot. 



T 



Monatiquot ! thy winding stream, 

That through green meadows makes its way, 
Reflecting Sol's enlivening beam, 

And sparkling 'neath his fervid ray, 

I love on thy green banks to roam, 

Where once the Indian mother smiled, 

And, happy in her quiet home, 
To ramble with her tawny child. 

In thee she bathed the forest-born, 
And taught him how to swim the wave ; 

The wild flowers from thy banks were torn 
For wreaths to deck her infant brave. 

The light canoe on thy fair breast 

She launched, and taught the sturdy lad, 

With straining arms and swelling chest, 
To paddle like his warrior dad. 

And here the Indian taught his son 
The herrings in his net to snare, 



TO-MORROW. 39 



Or with his .bow through woods to run, 
To slay the wolf, and hunt the bear. 

The white flint formed his hatchet then, 
The bone his hook, the reed his dart ; 

And often now, amidst the glen, 
Are found the relics of his art. 

And here, upon thy quiet breast, 

The sea-bird sheltered from the storm ; 

And here she built her sedgy nest, 
And came her frosted wings to warm. 

How changed the scene, Monatiquot! 

Thy teeming waters roll the same ; 
But vanished now the Indian's boat, 

And far away the Indian's game. 

The white man tramples on the graves 
Where warriors laid their chieftain down ; 

And o'er thy gently gliding waves 
The railroad and the factory frown. 



o-l I (sorrow. 



To the heart that can hope tho' o'erburdened with sorrow, 

Futurity pictures relief from its pain ; 
But dismal to him are the thoughts of to-morrow, 

Whose hopes in to-morrow have long been in vain. 



40 MISCELLANEOUS. 



The wretch to whom day after day brings but sorrow, 
And adds to his mis'ry, already too great, 

With terror expects that the coming to-morrow 

Will bring some new grief to increase his hard fate. 

And if, from the chances of life, he would borrow 
The hope that Dame Fortune some good will impart, 

That hope, as it fades from his view on the morrow, 
Adds gall to the canker that preys on his heart. 

In vain may you urge him to trust in to-morrow, 

Whose wife and whose children are suff'ring for bread, 

Or seek to plant hope in that bosom of sorrow 
By telling him, " Verily, thou shalt be fed." 

To hist'ry he'll turn, where the pages of sorrow 
That many have famished too plainly reveals ; 

It may be the fate of his children to-morrow, 

With frantic distraction his breaking heart feels. 

In death he would seek a relief from his sorrow ; 

But who for his wife or his children would care ? 
Ah ! who would watch o'er thee, my sweet ones, to- 
morrow, 

If I should resign thee to grief and despair? 

Say, would you preserve some poor mortal from sorrow, 
And save his young loved ones from mis'ry and woe ? 

Go — go to his hovel to-day, not to-morrow, 
And from your abundance a portion bestow. 



TO POVERTY. 41 



In vain may you hope that assurance he '11 borrow 
From Him who the "widow and orphan will save." 

Hope flies from his bosom ; despair on the morrow 
May seize the poor victim, and bear to the grave. 



1 3 47 . 



P 



over! 



f 



Some sing the praise of Poverty : 
Of that, perhaps, they never knew. 

I question their sincerity, 

And deem their plaudits all untrue. 

Let others praise thee, — I will not ; 

I've known thee long, and far too well : 
Companion of my humble cot, 

No good of thee my tongue can tell. 

I tried to drive thee from my door, 
By lab'ring hard from day to day ; 

But you held fast forever more, 

To thwart my course and block my way. 

In diff'rent ways my skill I tried 

To oust thee, but my purpose failed ; 

For all my efforts you defied, 

And 'gainst my every scheme prevailed. 



42 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The wise man long ago declared 
Thou wert the ruin of the poor ; 

And ill enough by thee I 've fared 
Since first you entered at my door. 

Could I but drive thee from my cot, 

My thanks would make the welkin ring 

Let others praise thee ; I cannot, 
Thou most unwelcome, ugly thing. 



ixile. 



On St. Helena's desert isle 

A captive lives — the warrior chief; 
His fate excites the coward's smile, 

But fills the soldier's heart with grief. 

I've seen him in the fight engaged, 
Like Hector dealing death around ; 

And where the thickest battle raged, 
There the undaunted chief was found. 

I've seen him when the fight was o'er ; 

Seen vanquished kings for pity kneel ; 
Seen him their conquered lands restore, 

And Mercy sheath the warrior's steel. 

But now their fetters hold him down ; 
His breast is bare, his sword is broke ; 



ST. HELENA. 43 



And each who owes to him a crown, 
Aims at his heart the deadly stroke. 

O base Ingratitude ! thy sting 
Can deeper, deadlier poisons dart 

Than all the evils life can bring 
Besides, to wound the noble heart. 

They've sunk the royal warrior's fame ; 

They hate him, but they dare not kill : 
All Europe trembles at his name — 

A lion caged 's a lion still ! 

Should war convulse the world again, 
And Fate his heavy shackles break, 

His thunders on the battle-plain 

Would make all Europe's monarchs quake. 

If once again on Gallic shore 

He treads, and heads her gallant band, 
He'll never go an exile more — 

His tomb will grace the Gallic land. 



it. H 



elena, 



On hoary Neptune's mountain pillow, 
Rocked by the ever-fretful wave, 

Beneath the consecrated willow, 
Repose the ashes of the brave. 



44 MISCELLANEOUS. 



No kindred round his tomb were weeping, 
While 'neath the sod his corse was laid : 

In this rude grave at last he's sleeping 
Whom half th' astonished world obeyed. 

Yet shall the mem'ry of his glory 
Survive till Nature's final doom, 

And this famed isle, in future story, 
Be known but as Napoleon's tomb. 



Winter <|3cene at Weymoutr). 



(On Sunday morning, after the sun-rising, the trees and shrubs, being coated 
with frozen rain, presented a scene of remarkable splendor. ) 

The diamonds ! oh, the diamonds ! 

They are strewn upon the land, 
Ten thousand, thousand glittering gems, 

Magnificently grand. 
Of every fashion, form, and hue, 

They sparkle, change, and glare — 
The red, the orange, green, and blue, 

And tints of beauty rare. 

My garden seems a fairy bower — 

Each shrub a jeweled crown ; 
It seems as though the stars had poured 

A shower of diamonds down. 



WINTER SCENE AT WEYMOUTH. 45 

Not all the jewels kings and queens 

To deck their persons wear, 
Can with this frost-gemmed cedar-tree 

In elegance compare. 

Old oaks that still their leaves retain, 

With shade of modest brown, 
Are frosted o'er with glitt'ring gems, 

That hang in garlands down. 
On every twig and grassy mound 

A beauteous jewel shines, 
And fairer never yet were found, 

Within the Indian mines. 

The frost, and rain, and sun have given 

Such countless jewels birth, 
It seems almost a waste of wealth, 

To tread them in the earth. 
The sun, who brightens every gem, 

Will melt them in an hour ; 
But He who made the sun and them, 

He only can restore. 

Thou great Mechanic ! mighty One ! 

To whom this scene we owe, 
What gems must lighten round Thy throne, 

If thus Thy footstool glow ? 



46 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Inswer. 



How came you to marry old Donald, friend Jane ? 

I'm sure you can't love him — you must be insane ! 
I wonder you had him ; but tell, if you can, 

What led you to marry that ugly old man ? 

I'll tell you ; perhaps when you've heard what I say, 
You '11 not think me crazy, so listen, I pray : 

In kindness he's father and mother to me ; 
I feel like his child when I sit on his knee. 

A guardian and teacher he walks by my side, 
And well I can trust in his wisdom to guide ; 

He 7 s brother and sister, and uncle and aunt; 
He knows all my need, and supplies every want. 

My nurse and physician, companion and friend, 
He loves and respects me, and will to the end. 

You say he 's an old man, but, Kate, I '11 engage 
He 's younger than many men not half his age. 

You say he is ugly ; can that be the case 

When goodness shines through every line in his face ? 
For more yet I love him, and were he not true, 

Although you jeer me, I 'd not trust him with you. 



BESIDE THE WOOD. 47 



kJeside \\)Q Wood. 



The lark arose on his airy wing 

To carol away the morn, 
To the whist'ling plough-boy cheerily sing, 

And mock at the turtle's moan. 

The eagle had mounted in the sky 

To gaze on the god of day ; 
With a fearless wing and unblenching eye 

He soared in the solar ray. 

The little red robin was perched on a tree, 

Pecking at cherries so fine ; 
The gabbling geese 'gan reveille 

In concert with the swine. 

The gallant cock led forth his dames, 
And stretched his clarion throat 

With a voice that e'en the lion tames — 
Triumphant victory's note. 

The thirsty herds came thundering down, 

To quaff their morning fare ; 
The monarch oak scarce shook his crown, 

So light was the zeph'rian air. 

'Twas there — 'twas on that lovely morn, 

Down by the copsewood side, 
A beauteous maiden caught my eye, 

And I wooed her for my bride. 



48 MISCELLANEOUS. 



I praised her for her sparkling eyes, 
That like to diamonds shone, 

And, like all lovers, vowed, with sighs, 
To love but her alone. 

With modest look and downcast eye, 

A struggling smile and tear, 
She asked me, with a half-born sigh, 
" Are you indeed sincere ? " 

" By Him who guides yon rising sun, 
And hears the lover's vow, 
If you regard me, lovely one, 
No other nymph I '11 woo." 

She gave her hand, she gave her heart, 

That precious gem resigns, 
And now I would not with her part 

For all Golconda's mines. 

Beside the wood our cottage stands ; 

There peaceful comfort reigns : 
No tyrant lordling there commands, 

No sufferer there complains. 

But there, our baby on her knee, 
My dear loved Judy smiles ; 

Her cheering notes ring merrily, 
And passing time beguiles. 

A stately elm our cottage shades, 
And from a bending bough, 

Our friendly neighbors' youngling maids 
Are swinging to and fro. 



BESIDE THE WOOD. 49 

The birds have caught their laughing notes 

In all the woods around ; 
With music from their swelling throats 

The echoing hills resound. 

Small fruits, that little fingers stain, 

In plenty here we find ; 
While blooming flowers along the plain 

Perfume the balmy wind. 

The ducks are swimming on the lake 

That empties in the bay ; 
And in the distance, through the brake, 

You '11 glimpse the ocean's spray. 

Our fisher's boat, old dancing Bet, 

Is anchored on the ground ; 
While hooks and lines, and spears and nets, 

Are utilized around. 

Our petted dog is resting near ; 

Though sleeping now he seems, 
No sound escapes his listening ear — 

A sentry in his dreams. 

Nor sin nor sorrow vex the heart 

In our surroundings here ; 
Fair Nature, lightly touched by art, 

Makes all things bright appear. 

From envy, strife, and tumult free, 

The latch-string out the door, 
Health, plenty, love, and liberty — 

Ah ! what could Heaven grant more ? 



Dec. 3, 1879. 



5 MISCELLANEO US. 



Idieu to rtfoy Harp. 



Oh, I will quit this harp of mine, 

For it hath sung to souls unfeeling, 
Who heeded not while sounds divine 

Were o'er its strings harmonious stealing. 
Go, go, my harp ; neglected, go ; 
For thee no tears but mine will flow. 

Thy plaintive strains they would not hear, 
They had not hearts for heavenly pity ; 
And vainly to the adder's ear 
I sang my melancholy ditty. 

Go, go, my harp ; thy sounds divine 
Have thrilled no human heart but mine. 

The murmuring brook went soothing by, 

The silent woods appeared to listen ; 
The echo answered with a sigh, 
But not a human eye would glisten. 
Go, go, my harp ; neglected, go ; 
For thee no tears but mine will flow. 

And must I, then, thy charms forsake, 

And of thine only friend bereave thee ? 
Yes ; sleep, my harp, no more to wake ; 
'T will give me pain, but I must leave thee. 
Go, go, my harp ; thy sounds divine 
Have thrilled no human heart but mine. 



MEMORY. 51 



emory. 



Where'er we are cast on the ocean of life, 

The scenes of our childhood we never forget ; 

Our early companions, in pleasure or strife, 

Are fixed in our memories, and nestle there yet. 

The dead and the absent, though oceans divide, 
The unseen of years are impressed on our brain ; 

The objects we cherished return to our side, 

And we live with our loved ones the past o'er again. 

Before me stands one to my early days known, 
To others he bears the impress of Old Time ; 

His features to me, as though chiseled in stone, 

Preserved in my memory still bloom in their prime. 

I see the young boy, with his bat and his ball ; 

" Huzza for a frolic ! " he halloos in glee : 
He answers my whistle, and comes at the call ; 

I see him the same as he once was to me. 

We meet now but seldom ; for fortune has placed 
A distance between us not often passed o'er ; 

Yet oft that wild youth in my memory embraced 
Is present, and makes the blood tingle once more : 

His brow may be wrinkled, his hair may be gray, 
Yet memory will paint, with the pencil of truth, 

The boy as he was when I met him at play — 

The selfsame light-hearted, wild, frolicsome youth. 



52 MISCELLANEOUS. 



And here the young nymph who my fancy first won, 
Though long since departed, I think of her yet, 

And shall till my race in this world shall be run — 
For time cannot make me her image forget. 

I see her as oft I have seen her before, 

The dear little romp, as she frolicked along ; 

And grieve that in fact I can see her no more, 
Or listen again to her wild caroled song. 

Oh memory ! how precious a blessing thou art 
'Midst trials and sorrow ! and never in vain 

I seek from thy treasures a balm for the heart, 
And bring the departed to bless me again. 



PTiendsrH 



Friendship, peculiar boon of Heaven, 
The noble mind's delight and pride ; 
To man and angels only given, 
To all the lower world denied. 

Thus sang one poet, but we find another 
Has differed very widely from his brother, 
Declaring friendship to be but a name ; 
But friendships differ — all are not the same. 

The kind he censured we may well be sure 
Was not the genuine, the sound, and pure ; 



FRIENDSHIP. 53 

For this, when active, wheresoe'er we find, 
Promotes the happiness of human kind. 

Man does no act from pure, unselfish love, 
That does not to himself a blessing prove ; 
And he who to the suffering lends his aid, 
Will be with a fourfold requital paid. 

That kind of friendship that no test has stood, 
That seeks its own more than a brother's good, 
May prove at times so selfish, cold, and tame, 
It scarcely is deserving friendship's name. 

The true will prove its worth in trial hour, 
And great, when wisely used, is Friendship's power 
To soothe, to strengthen, cherish, and defend : 
Man knows few blessings like a faithful friend. 

'T was one great gift to man from heaven above, 
And second only to the gift of love ; 
When these combine, to man, from Eden driven, 
They give in this hard world a glimpse of heaven. 

Damon and Pythias were true friends indeed ; 
Each for the other willingly would bleed : 
On them death's terror no relapse could make ; 
Their confidence no circumstance could shake. 

This raised the admiration of their foe, 
And drooped the arm upraised for deadly blow. 
With virtue for its base, could friendship true 
A haughty tyrant's cruel heart subdue. 



54 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Though scenes like this in modern times are rare, 
Still friends with friends each other's burden bear ; 
And hearts with hearts together will entwine 
As firm as in the days of " Auld Lang Syne." 

Then let us cherish friendship here on earth — 
For surely first in heaven it had its birth ; 
And let no human being e'er despair 
Who has a friend on earth his grief to share. 

Dec. 25, 1877. 



ever 



7 



Never say die, though the last plank is sinking ; 

Boldly strike out and contend with the wave : 
Ne'er like a coward be whining and shrinking, 

Hope for good fortune — she favors the brave. 
Cling to her wheel ; it is constantly turning : 

Upward, look upward, and manfully dare. 
Men by experience still must be learning ; 

If you fail, try again, never despair. 
Never despair while a spark of life tarries ; 

Stand by your flag, though in tatters it wave : 
Still be your motto, whatever miscarries, 
" Nil desperandum" the flag of the brave. 

Nov. 5, 1859. 



KNO W-NO THING. 5 5 



4\now-rfeotr}in( 



Who would n't be a Know-Nothing 

In these degenerate days, 
Where Solon's wisdom would n't bring 

A pennyworth of praise ; 
Where folly rules the vaunting class, 

Where Liberty is sold, 
And he who owns a face of brass 

Commands the purse of gold. 

Who would n't be a Know-Nothing, 

Where politicians fret 
Because, beneath the eagle's wing, 

They can't an office get ; 
Nor make old Uncle Sam believe, 

While grov'ling at his heel, 
The things they 're striving to achieve 

Are for the public weal. 

Who would n't be a Know-Nothing, 

Where speculators thrive 
Like drones, who only ply the wing 

To rob the workers' hive ; 
Who stand between us and our food — 

The gift that God has given — 
Who quench the fires that warmed our blood, 

And toll the gates of heaven. 



56 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Who would n't be a Know-Nothing, 

Where doctors disagree, 
While quacks their countless nostrums bring 

To cure the fiddle-de-de ; 
Where poor folks lack the man of skill, 

When cash is low or out — 
More fearful of the doctor's bill 

Than fever, stone, or gout. 

Who would n't be a Know-Nothing, 

Where pettifoggers ply 
Like hissing snakes, the venomed sting, 

To wheedle, lure, and lie. 
And plead against a righteous cause, 

For lucre, without shame ; 
Or turn, and twist, and stretch the laws 

To win a rascal's fame. 

Who would n't be a Know-Nothing, 

Where ladies nothing know 
Except to waltz the mazy ring, 

And dress to catch a beau ; 
To set their caps for popinjays, 

To flaunt their stylish gear ; 
To fish for undeserved praise, 

And at their neighbors sneer.* 



*The author confesses that the satire on woman is entirely unmerited by 
any lady of his acquaintance, and will only apply to such as he has read of in 
novels and romances. 



KNO W-NO THING. 5 7 



Who would n't be a Know-Nothing, 

Where all religions fight ; f 
Where each would make the other swing, 

And few regard the right : 
Where peace-pretending rev'rends foam 

Like bullies in a ring ; 
Who would n't rather stay at home 

And be a Know-Nothing. 

A Know-Nothing then let me be, 

If but allowed to guess : 
Law, physic, love, and politics 

Are humbugs, more or less. 

Did I of love as humbug sing, 

The true I could not mean ; 
But that poor counterfeit, a thing 

So very often seen. 
True love will in its mate confide — 

Will constant to it cling, 
And to its harm, whate'er betide, 

Will be a Know-Nothing. 

1856. 



t" Where all religions fight." Those who prove their love to God by 
showing their love to man, are excepted, of course. 



58 MISCELLANEOUS. 



G[ive FRe tbe Wild Rotes. 



Let scholars with study bewilder their brains 
To wring out magnificent, college-taught strains, 
And pester their muse till she sleeps o'er her harp, 
A strain and a nod, then a trill and a gape, 
Be 't mine, when I woo her, my passion to show 
By catching and kissing, and then let her go. 

Those wonderful poems, exquisitely fine, 
Though guarded each measured, grammatical line, 
Yet make no impression that sticks to the head, 
Though polished like silver are worthless as lead ; 
So strict to the rule and the plummet confined, 
Deficient in naught save the image of mind. 

Give me the wild notes like the bugle's — the wail 
That moans like the forest when swept by the gale ; 
The words that gush freely and warm from the heart, 
Untrimmed of their beauties by fashion and art ; 
Rough nature's wild notes at the free cotter's door — 
The music that thrills through the hearts of the poor. 



February, iS 



ew 



Qnaland ^pleiar)ina Prolic. 



The heavens above are filled with snow, 
The earth is painted deep below 



A NEW ENGLAND SLEIGHING FROLIC. 59 

With snow and sleet, with sleet and snow, 
'T is winter drear, ah me ! ah oh ! 

But hark ! what sound is that I hear ? 
The merry bells so full of cheer, 
The flying sleigh approaching near, 
Or passing by like Parthian spear. 

Now girls and boys, in warm array, 
Bring out and tackle up the sleigh ; 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! away, away, 
Let Dobbin do his best to-day. 

O'er hills and holes now see them fly, 
Now sinking low, now mounting high, 
And onward, onward, still their cry, 
Their loud laugh ringing through the sky. 

Now through the drift, hurrah ! hurrah ! 
When over goes the flying car, 
And heads and heels together jar, 
But nothing breaks, their sport to mar. 

Again they pack, and closer stow ; 
Push on, push on, hurrah ! hollo ! 
And words of love, in whispers low, 
Are drowned in shouts of " Here we go ! " 

The tavern gained, let Dobbin rest ; 
Now-girls and boys your breeding test ; 
Strike up the music with a zest, 
And see which pair will foot it best. 



60 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Now join your hands and make a string; 
Now rigadoon and pigeon wing ; 
Salute your partners, that's the thing — 
The smacks that make the ceiling ring. 

Now down outside, the light chasse, 
On springing toe and supple knee, 
With sparkling eyes and motions free, 
Fal la, fal li, fal lo, fal le. 

See sprightly Bess and nimble Jim, 
So neatly formed, so slick and trim ; 
How lightly o'er the floor they skim, 
And few can dance like her or him. 

Jemima trips on quivering toe, 
And gives her hand to laughing Joe, 
Who gripes it hard — I guess I know : 
With him through life she'd like to go. 

See thundering Sam, at pigeon wing, 
Around the floor his Dolly swing, 
So full of glee he's forced to sing 
With voice that's like a trumpet's ring. 

How quick the hours have passed away ; 
They've kept it up till almost day, 
Till tired music ceased to play ; 
Then hip, halloo ! bring out the sleigh. 

Now homeward bound with mirth they hie ; 
Old Dobbin makes the snowballs fly ; 



THE SANCTUM OF LOVE. 61 



And echo rings along the sky 
With li fal la, and li fal li. 

O loved New England ! ever dear, 
Amidst thy storms of winter drear, 
Thy manly sports and jovial cheer 
Are music to my heart and ear. 

Thy sturdy sons and daughters fair 
Are strong as steel, and lithe as air, 
With hearts to feel, and souls to dare, 
Unrivaled and beyond compare. 

Feb. 4, 1854. 



\)Q ^Janctum o| Qove, or Home and Meantr). 



May be sung to the Tune of " Fair Harvard." 

I will not forget thee, dear land of my birth, 

Wherever my dwelling may be, 
But here are my treasures — my home and my hearth, 

A rest and a haven to me. 

Cho. — The sanctum of love, and the Eden of earth, 
Wherever, however we roam, 
Our hearts are still with thee, our home and our 
hearth, — 
Bright hearth and our ever dear home. 



62 MISCELLANEOUS. 



From toil and disquiet, vexation and care, 

How charming our own open door : 
The kind, smiling wife and the old easy-chair, 

A kiss, and our troubles are o'er. 

The monk in his cloister secluded may spend 
His time o'er some musty old tome ; 

He knows not the charm of a kind, loving friend 
To brighten a hearth and a home. 

The bachelor, choosing his isolate lot, 

To furnish a home may despair ; 
In hovel or palace where woman is not, 

A hearth and a home is not there. 

The search after pleasure full many have tried 

While over creation they roam, 
But miss of their object, where'er they abide, 

Who lack for a hearth and a home. 

O home, sacred home ! the dear name has a charm 
The earth and the heavens have blest : 

On earth 't is our refuge from danger and harm, 
In the heavens a mansion of rest. 



THE STORM. 



Form. 



A wild note 's in that thunder, 

That bursting cloud is nigh, 
And half creation's wonder 

Lights up the trembling sky. 
Like cracks in hell's dark portals 

The zigzag lightning glares : 
Now tremble, guilty mortals ! 

Now, sinners, to your prayers ! 

Look ! the red bolt, descending, 

Has scathed the lofty spire, 
The massive fabric rending — 

The house of God 's on fire ! 
Below, the flames are raging, 

The cloud a torrent pours — 
These hostile powers engaging, 

While heaven's artillery roars. 

The house of God is falling — 

By Heaven's own hand it falls ; 
In vain the Church is calling 

To save her temple walls. 
That Power above which decked it 

With jewels rich and fair, 
Why doth He now neglect it? 

Iniquity was there ! 



64 MISCELLANEOUS. 



He who in white robes dressed her 

Condemns her to the dust ; 
A spot is on her vesture, 

Hypocrisy accurst. 
Her negro pew condemns her, 

The poor white had no place ; 
The Holy One contemns her, 

The Saviour hides his face. 

Had righteous hearts maintained it, 

Had only one been found, 
His goodness had sustained it — 

It had been holy ground. 
But those who there assembled 

Forsook the narrow path ; 
Their worship, all dissembled, 

Awoke Jehovah's wrath. 

There sat the proud oppressor, 

And there the artful knave ; 
And shall the Lord caress her 

Who fattens on the slave ? 
How vain is the pretender 

To Him whose eye can see ! 
How vile is the offender 

By base hypocrisy. 



Sept. 22, li 



THE YANKEE. 65 



] \)Q Y anki 



ee. 



(Tune— Hob a' Nob.) 

Away o'er the river, the lake, or the sea, 

A Yankee 's a Yankee where'er he may roam ; 

And the land of New England — the happy, d'ye see — 
Is his never-forgotten, his dear, native home. 

Cho. — All, all for his home, 't is the favored of Jove, 
And the land of the Pilgrims we honor and love ; 

Home, home, happy home, 'tis the land of the free, 
And our jolly New England forever give me. 

Where Neptune rides over his waters of blue, 

There floats the proud Yankee — his stripes and his stars ; 

Where interest or honor invites he '11 pursue, 

And both are brought home by our brave Yankee tars. 

To Europe, to Asia, to Africa go, 

Their forests, their lakes, and their rivers explore, 
The Yankee's light foot or his fairy canoe 

Has graven some proof he has been there before. 

The heart of a Yankee is faithful and sound ; 

His home and his country is stamped on its core ; 
And though he may wander the universe 'round, 

His bosom will yearn for his own cottage door. 

The home of his parents, his loved ones are there, 
And quick beats his pulse as he touches the strand ; 

While pure from his heart flows a warm, gushing prayer 
That God may watch o'er thee, his dear native land. 



66 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Cold water possesses no terrors for him ; 

The salt or the fresh like a duck he sails o'er, 
And pledges his country and friends to the brim 

In a can from the stream at his own cottage door. 



>orn-l lusfcina in ffeew Qnajand. 



Our fathers were as grave a set 
As e'er in social circle met ; 
Their num'rous pious acts will prove 
Their hearts were fixed on things above. 
Yet careful, as their deeds will show, 
For all that 's useful here below, 
Resolved their children should be free, 
They labored for posterity ; 
But num'rous trials made them wear 
The blended seal of hope and care. 
Praise to the dead ! a nobler race 
Have never borne the human face. 
The children of these staid old men 
Can look quite sober, now and then ; 
At funerals or at church you '11 see 
Them show their Pilgrim pedigree. 
But Fortune, on this favored shore, 
Has been so lavish of her store, 

Printed Oct. 1 1, 1856, but written long before — at least two years. 



CORN-HUSKING IN NEW ENGLAND. 67 

For one to look exceeding grave, 
Would mark him now a crusty knave. 
Our phizes have been getting short 
Since Freedom her first lesson taught, 
And more intent on fun and gains, 
The quick blood dances through our veins. 
The stubble in the field is seen ; 
No suff'ring wretch is there to glean ; 
The Indian corn, our country's pride, 
Is in the barn, all cut and dried. 

'T was night on Deacon Symon's farm ; 
Though cold without, within 't was warm. 
The mighty chimney glowed with heat, 
Yet in each corner was a seat, 
Where Tom and Peter, Jake and Si,* 
Could sit and munch their pumpkin-pie. 
Assembled in the spacious room 
Some thirty damsels in their bloom, 
With here and there a matron's cap, 
And some with infants in the lap. 
The girls have had their quilting bee, 
And all is frolic, fun, and glee ; 
But now and then an anxious eye 
Looks on the door, intent, but sly : 
They knew their sparks would soon appear, 
To share the deacon's liberal cheer. 
The deacon, — thrifty man was he, — 
While maids and matrons held their bee, 



Josiah. 



68 MISCELLANEOUS. 

Had sent the boys a grand invite 
To husking in his barn that night. 
In calculation he was skilled, 
Knew how one stone two birds had killed 
The husking party and the bee 
At once, was good economy. 
But now the door is opened wide, 
And there 's the deacon ; by his side, 
And thickly clustering in his rear, 
Some dozen likely lads appear. 
They come their partners to secure, 
And lead them to the husking-floor. 
The heavy shawls are round them cast, 
And no one wishes to be last ; 
And now they march as gay a band 
As ever walked the Pilgrims' land. 
Old Symon's barn was long and wide, 
And num'rous tenants there reside — 
His horses, oxen, cows, and sheep, 
Well-housed and fed, in quiet sleep, 
But startled by the unwonted sound, 
They look with staring eyes around ; 
And well they might, for such a din 
But once a year was heard within. 
Before his guests a lofty pile 
Of corn awakes the deacon's smile, 
And, seated round, each girl and boy 
Prepares both work and sport to enjoy. 
Oh, hasty-pudding, hominy, 
And johnny-cake, how good you be, 
With milk and butter, fresh and sweet — 
The Yankee's often welcomed treat ! 



CORN-HUSKING IN NEW ENGLAND. 69 

The Indian corn supplies it all, 

A blessing both to cot and hall ; 

'T was you our Pilgrim fathers found, 

By Indians stored beneath the ground ; 

'T was you who, in their trial-hour, 

Preserved them from gaunt famine's power ; 

And we, their sons, will grateful prove, 

By acts that demonstrate our love. 

Now, deacon, fix the lantern right, 

For husking needs but little light, 

And well 't is known to every spark, 

A kiss is sweetest in the dark. 

Now crack your jokes, and work, and play, 

And mirthful pass the time away. 

But stop, my lass — a forfeit here ; 

Don't hide it, 't is a right red ear 

Of corn, and you my charming miss, 

By husking laws, must pay the kiss — 

Or if you will not pay the stake, 

A dozen kisses I must take. 

The deacon cries, " Put by that ear ; 

I '11 plant it out the coming year — 

For 'like produces like,' 'tis said, 

And, zounds ! I wish one half were red." 

Now long and loud the laugh goes round ; 

Another right red ear is found, 

And forfeits fly around the stack 

Till e'en the deacon gets a smack. 

At length the lofty pile is down, 

The husks are on the scaffold thrown ; 

By willing hands the yellow corn 

Is swiftly to the gran'ry borne. 



70 MISCELLANEOUS. 



And now the fiddler tunes his strings, 

Each lad to meet his partner springs, 

And all for dancing, wide awake, 

They make old Symon's rafters shake — 

And pranks and capers here are played 

Enough to scare an ancient maid ; 

Till from the house a horn is blown, 

And well its import here is known. 

By careful dame the feast prepared 

Is waiting by them to be shared, 

And lads and lasses quickly fly 

To taste the deacon's pumpkin-pie ; 

And goose and turkey, boiled and roast, 

And pork and beans, and tea and toast, 

And fowls and ham, and mutton steaks, 

And doughnuts, puddings, pies, and cakes 

Are smoking on the ample board, 

And Symon looks and acts the lord ; 

A noble sample of the race 

We back to England's patriots trace — 

New England's yeoman, proud to toil, 

To bless and guard Columbia's soil. 



tb< 



oon. 



I wish thou wert a living thing, 

That I might tell thee how I love thee ; 

To thee my sweetest notes I'd sing, 

And sound thy praise to gems above thee. 



WHO'LL MOURN FOR ME? 71 

I love thee in thy crescent form, 

Nor less when decked with all thy graces, 

Or lonely, struggling through the storm, 
When all the stars have hid their faces. 

Some call thee changeful, but not I ; 

Thou keep'st thy course, God knows, most duly ; 
The fault is in the gazer's eye, 

That lacks the power to see thee truly. 

Thou look'st on me with thy sweet face, 
And always look so mild and cheer'ly, 

I almost fancy I can trace 

The look of one I loved most dearly. 

But now good-night, thou beauteous thing ; 

While you o'er earth a watch are keeping, 
If you won't listen while I sing, 

Perhaps you '11 kiss me while I'm sleeping. 



W90 II rtfoourn for PHLe? 



Who '11 mourn for me when I am dead, 

Or note where I may lie ? 
Who '11 pause above my narrow bed 

And breathe a parting sigh ? 

Have I a friend with heart sincere 

To feel a pang for me ? 
Have I a friend to shed a tear 

When death shall set me free ? 



72 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Let me inquire — have I deserved 

Love that defies the grave? 
Whom have I with affection served ? 

Whom sought from harm to save ? 

To whom did I the helping hand, « 

With generous zeal extend ? 
How many at my grave can stand 

And say, " There lies my friend " ? 

If none, then I deserve that none 
Should mourn above my bier ; 

The heart that kindness ne'er has shown 
Awakes not friendship's tear. 

How could I rest within the tomb 

If such my lot should be ? 
Or live and hear that chilling doom, 
" No tear will fall for thee " ? 

Oh ! give me in my hour of death 

One friend, if only one, 
To watch my last soul-parting breath, 

And friendship's duties own. 



1847. 



Jjje First W^ite H 



am. 



Ha, stranger — ha ! you are not welcome quite ; 
Amidst my glossy brown, one hair of white 



FIREMAN'S SONG. 73 



Looks odd indeed — looks odd and very queer : 
What is your business, and what brought you here ? 

Speak ! thou most ominous and lone white hair, 
" I will — one word of warning, friend : Prepare ! " 
Prepare ? I will, to oust thee by the root ; 
Your looks with my complexion do not suit. 

You bring not righteousness enough, I doubt, 
To add the honorable, and, therefore, out. 
I did not dream to find you here so soon ; 
What is 't you say — " With me 't is afternoon " ? 

What then ; my limbs as yet are stout and strong, 
And I may hope to live, God knows how long. 

" How long you do not know," the hair replies ; 

" Therefore regard my warning, and be wise. 

" If you would rob the conqueror of his sting, 
Think on the admonition that I bring : 
Respect the warning of your first white hair ; 
Prepare thyself in time — for death prepare." 



F 



ireman s @L)on< 



Fire ! fire ! the alarm-bell rings, 
The flames illume the sky ; 

The fireman to his duty springs, 
And " Fire ! fire ! " 's the cry. 



74 MISCELLANEOUS. 



Away, away the engine rolls ; 

On flying feet they go, 
A fearless band of gallant souls 

Who bravely face the foe. 

Below, aloft, where duty calls, 

They mount the burning stair ; 
On blazing roof, on tottering walls, 

What men can do they dare. 
Hark ! hark ! is heard that wailing cry ? 

" A babe is left behind ! " 
Swift as the eagle cleaves the sky, 

Or like the rushing wind, 

The fireman springs ; the ladder 's placed ; 

The bursting flame is braved : 
A moment more his steps retraced — 

The child, the child is saved ! 
A mother's arms receive her child, 

A mother's thanks are given ; 
An angel's hand the record filed, 

And bore it up to heaven. 

Then here 's the gallant fireman's health, 

Who bravely fights the foe — 
Who ventures life for others' wealth, 

And dares what man may do. 
Sustain him with your helping hand, 

To generous deeds aspire, 
And quench the desolating brand 

Of fire! fire! fire! 



PM NOT A NON-RESISTANT. 75 



<i m not a ffoon-resistant.. 



I 'm not a non-resistant ; I 

Could for my children smite, 
And though I am not quarrelsome, 

For freedom I would fight. 
And shame to him whose coward heart 

Can beat supinely calm 
While weak, confiding woman claims 

Protection from his arm. 

I would not an offender be, 

Nor tempt Jehovah's rod, 
But battling for the rights of man, 

With me, is serving God ; 
Nor will I doubt the approving word, 

Let but my cause be good, 
If to the hilt my reeking sword 

Is dyed with tyrant's blood. 

I ask not for a better cause 

Than freedom's ; 't is our own — 
The right we claim from nature's laws 

To beat the oppressor down : 
And he who basely yields that right 

Is but a coward knave ; 
Who would not for his freedom fight, 

Deserves to be a slave. 



76 MISCELLANEOUS. 



tb< 



orninq wDiar. 



ta. 



Bright star of the morning, while gazing on thee, 

I think on the Maker of you and of me. 

Myself — my own wonder; but thou, lovely gem, 

Appear a bright pearl in my King's diadem. 

How could he — how could he suspend thee up there, 

And cause thee to shine with a lustre so fair ? 

How mighty His power, how wondrous His skill, 

Who formed thee, and placed thee, and holds thee there 

still ! 
Though ages on ages have passed in review, 
Thy course is the same, and thy time ever true — 
A proof of thy Maker's great wisdom and might, 
Yet still but a drop in his ocean of light. 

Aug. 10, 1857. 



Qines to my Brother. 

(One and a half years my junior.) 



'T is Christmas Eve, dear brother Ben - 
Just eighty years I 've seen ; 

And now I 'm growing old, you '11 ken 
I 'tn not what I have been. 



LINES TO MY BROTHER. Ti 

But mem'ry leads me back again 

To days of long ago — 
To scenes of pleasure and of pain, 

Of happiness and woe ; 

When you and I, two little knaves, 

Were happy at our play, 
Or leagued to fight the bigger braves, 

For we were friends alway. 

Your foes were mine, my friends were yours — 

They ever found it so ; 
We did not seek for other cause 

To mark a friend or foe. 

Brothers and sisters round us clung, 

Father and mother kind ; 
But we were made half orphans young — 

Too young our loss to mind. 

We were one less a dozen, then, 

And we the youngest known, 
Save little Bess ; now Frank and Ben 

Are traveling on alone. 

Since three years old, remembered still 

My playmate and my pet, 
In love we climbed life's rugged hill — 

Descending, we love yet. 

Together we have journeyed on, 

Though sometimes far apart ; 
However wide our paths have gone, 

United still in heart. 



78 MISCELLANEOUS. 



And now I 'm drawing near the shore 
Where we must all embark, 

And I must pass the river o'er, 
The river cold and dark ; 

But with the eye of faith I see, 

Beyond, a brilliant view, 
Where men, from earthly evils free, 

Their forfeit lives renew ; 

Where sin pollutes the soul no more, 
Where sorrow cannot stay, 

And by His hand whom we adore, 
All tears are wiped away. 

What, then, may be our portion there, 

Our wisest cannot tell ; 
But we can trust our Father's care — 
" He doeth all things well." 

Dec. 24, 1869. 



I\uffian @5oldi 



ers. 



(The following lines were written after perusing the account of an out- 
rage committed by some English soldiers, who had entered Spain as friends, 
on the person of a young Spanish woman, the wife of a cottager.) 

Do you see the old cottage that 's down in the vale, 
Where no smoke from the chimney ascends — 

Where, through the cracked casement, the wind and the hail 
Their fury impotently spend ? 



GEE UP! 79 

That cottage was mine — 't was my fathers of old ; 

There Emma resided erewhile ; 
But ah ! never let her sad story be told, 

Till Nature has spent her last smile. 
The prints of their feet in that valley are seen — 

The soldiers of Britain were there ; 
But no human tongue can describe the sad scene 

That has driven my heart to despair ! 
They put out the blaze, in the cot of the vale, 

That pleasantly glowed on the hearth ; 
They opened my door to the wind and the hail, 

And broke the sweet viol of mirth. 
They robbed me of all that I claimed for my own : 

Dishonored, she would not survive. 
Her ashes are there ; they are under that stone : 
Though hid from my sight they are never alone — 

Her ashes asrain will revive. 



%eeh ? \ 



I would not be a president, nor would I be a king, 
Or a dependant on their smiles for any needed thing ; 
But I would be a farmer, with my plough, and rake, and hoe, 
And cheerily drive my team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa ! ■ 

Gee up, gee up, gee whoa ! with plough, and rake, and hoe, 
Would cheerily drive my team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa ! 



80 MISCELLANEOUS. 



The farmer's is an honest life ; a merry man is he ; 
He's bound to have a host of friends, and not an enemy. 
He wears his hat before the proud, but lifts it to the low, 
And cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa! 
Gee up, gee up, gee whoa ! with plough, and rake, and hoe ; 
He cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa! 

The farmer, as a citizen, well understands his rights, 
And Bunker Hill is witness to maintain them how he fights ; 
But, till a new occasion calls to grapple with a foe, 
He cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa! 
Gee up, gee up, gee whoa ! with plough, and rake, and hoe, 
He cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa ! 

He frolics with the dairy-maid, though free from courtier's 

wiles ; 
He sometimes wins a kiss or two, for helping o'er the stiles, 
Or sees, though seeming not to see, should she an ankle 

show, 
And cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa! 
Gee up, gee up, gee whoa ! with plough, and rake, and hoe, 
He cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa ! 

He gets a wife, a bonny one, who 's made of sterling stuff, 
And his strong arms support her well with everything 
enough ; 



THE TAILOR. 81 



He finds a treasure in her smiles, her cheeks of ruby glow, 
And cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa! 
Gee up, gee up, gee whoa ! with plough, and rake, and hoe, 
He cheerily drives his team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa ! 

In time a dozen urchins spring around the farmer's hearth ; 
Their voices make the welkin ring with shouts of joyful 

mirth ; 
And Tom, and Sam, and Dick, and Bill can plough, and 

rake, and hoe, 
And cheerily drive the team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa! 
Gee up, gee up, gee whoa ! with plough, and rake, and hoe, 
And cheerily drive the team along — gee up, gee up, gee 

whoa! 



■ailor. 



A tailor, you know, 't is the fashion to call 

The ninth part of a man : that is rating him small, 

And sounds rather grudging ; but if it be true, 

'T is more than folks average, take the world through. 

Though voted so small he has mighty things done, 
Since Adam was clothed by the first tailor known, 
Who made coats of skins our first parents to dress, 
And contrived the first fashion to hide nakedness. 



82 MISCELLANEOUS. 

The king on his throne his importance, we know, 
To the tailor he owes, for he 7 s made up for show. 
What a figure he 'd cut, in his crown and his shoes, 
If the tailor to dress him should chance to refuse ! 

The beau who so gallantly steps by the side 

Of the dashing young miss, with her ensigns of pride, 

Were it not for the tailor in vain he might sigh, 

For the maid would not deign him a glance of her eye. 

The sailor, so neat in his jacket and trou's, 
In vain would essay pretty Poll to espouse, 
Except to the tailor he first is addressed, 
And rigs himself out in a suit of the best. 

The merchant, the lawyer, mechanic, and all 
Who wish for respect on this sin-laden ball, 
Dependent alike on the tailor are found 
For all the fine compliments passing around. 

And he who despises the tailor's fine art, 
Though gifted with virtues of head and of heart, 
Will find, to his sorrow, the saying prove true, 
He is out of the world who the fashions eschew. 

Poor Fido with friends and with fortune was blest, 
By all men respected, by most men caressed ; 
But fortune proved faithless, — when not worth a groat, 
He found that his friends only bowed to his coat. 

Yet dear were those friends, very dear to his heart ; 
'T was painful for him with their friendship to part ; 



ALL ALONE. 83 



Nor lacked they of kindness, I 'd have you to note, 
For all bowed again when he got a new coat. 

Take notice, then, all who the tailor would slight, 
'T is folly against him to grumble or write : 
Except you have virtues that shine through your vest, 
The world will not bow to the shabbily dressed. 



lone. 



I would not be always complaining and sad, 
Yet we all need some one to make our hearts glad : 
A friend is a treasure, and those who have one 
Are happy ; but who can be happy alone ? 

Alone, all alone — what a terrible word ! 
No mate or companion a joy to afford ! 
In Nature there breathes not a sigh or a groan 
So mournful as that — all alone ! all alone ! 

Then let us still cherish the friends we hold dear, 
And, absent or present, regard them as near. 
While leagued in affection with friends of our own, 
We never need fear that cold sentence — Alone! 



MIS CELLANEO US. 



-0 



one — v^iione ! 



There is a word of doleful sound 

Oft uttered with a groan ; 
It casts a chilling air around — 

'T is that cold word, alone ! 

Oh ! who in life could bear to be, 
Unknowing and unknown — 

Debarred from all society, 
Alone — alone — alone ? 

The aching heart with none to cheer, 

That comforter has none, 
May vainly shed the blinding tear 

Alone — alone — alone ! 

Ah ! who the bitter fate could bide 
To breathe the unheeded groan, 

A poor forsaken cast-aside, 
Alone — alone — alone ? 

Oh ! if in this cold world there be 

One being, if but one, 
Who knows not human sympathy, 

Lord, leave him not alone ! 



THREE WARNINGS. 85 



)\)ree W 



arninqs. 



Three warnings — lame, and deaf, and blind; 

Although but partly so, 
They serve as mentors to remind 
That death's not very far behind ; 

We must prepare to go. 

We are death-sentenced : all must leave, 

Howe'er to life they cling ; 
No matter what they may believe, 

Death claims each living thing. 

Though death the soul and body part, 

Exempt from his control, 
Though conqueror o'er the human heart, 
Defiant of the tyrant's dart 

Still lives the immortal soul. 

When death and hell are both destroyed, 

Man's ransomed soul shall live ; 
No more by sinful lusts annoyed, 
Live to such pleasures, unalloyed, 
As only heaven can give. 



86 MISCELLANEOUS. 



onsms. 



Sift wrong from right ; 

The humble virtues prize. 
Look up for light, 

And truth shall make thee wise. 



Men bow to wealth, and honor noble blood ; 
But God and angels love the truly good. 



My son, when sinners thee entice, 
Consent not thou to share their vice ; 
But boldly cling to Virtue's side, 
Though swearers scoff and fools deride. 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BEDQUILT. 

(At the request of a sister.) 

Sister, I must, as you bid, 
Scribble on your coverlid. 
Many words are waste of time, 
Therefore take this simple rhyme : 
Hear it age, and learn it youth — 
Nothing wears like simple truth. 
Creeds will change, and systems fall ; 
Simple truth outlives them all. 



APHORISMS. 87 



RIDDLE FOR STEPHEN. 
(Written for my little boy.) 

I live in a house that is furnished complete ; 
It has but two windows, and stands on two feet : 
'Tis painted all over, from garret to floor, 
And two rows of sentinels stand at the door ; 
A clock in the chamber, that constantly swings, 
A bell, with a clapper, that merrily rings. 
This comical house is not built very stout, 
And if I abuse it I may be turned out. 



Jesus said, " He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." 

Were there but this convincing proof, 

This righteous judgment given, 
My trusting heart had cried, Enough ; 

Thou art the child of Heaven. 



* LOVE * 



'rje wld 



an s 



>oliloqu 



IT 



Poor Adam ! now I understand 
How homeless was your state 

Ere lovely Eve bestowed her hand, 
And came to be your mate. 

As you were then, so now am I — 
Alone, with none to cheer ; 

On me there looks no loving eye, 
No love-notes reach my ear. 

It seems as though but yesterday, 
With wife and children crowned, 

My cot a palace was to me, 
And pleasure smiled around. 

Now some, away, at distance roam, 
Some in the graveyard are, 

And on this earth man has no home 
If woman be not there. 



But why should I repine at fate ? 

' T were folly now to mourn ; 
Best try to bear my lonely state 

With patience, though forlorn. 



92 LOVE. 



Time flies — it cannot now be long 

Ere ends my long, long life, 
When I shall join the absent throng 

Of kindred, friends, and wife. 

Till then, cheer up ; the coward bends — 

Is dead while yet alive : 
Be thankful for your many friends, 

And that you still survive. 

When warned to quit this house of clay 

E'en for a home above, 
'T will be no easy word to say 

Adieu to those I love. 

To those I love ; and can it be 
That we shall meet no more ? 

Faith answers, No ! again you '11 see 

Your loved ones in eternity, 
Safe on the heavenly shore. 



tb< 



I no I her 



& 



ewe I tjone. 



Another jewel to His garner gone — 
And few on earth with brighter lustre shone. 
She 's gone to the land of the thornless rose, 
Where the bud of righteousness swells and blows, 



MY MOTHER. 93 



And she dwells beneath a cloudless sky, 
Where the dews of Love all wants supply. 
Bid her relics adieu with a parting kiss, 
And wish her not back from that land of bliss. 



FR y FRotb 



7 



er. 



Half sleeping on my mother's bed 
I lay, a young and careless boy : 
My mother, bending o'er my head, 

Cried, "Sleep — sleep on my darling joy." 
She kissed me ; though I did not move, 
I knew and felt a mother's love. 

That voice of kindness reached my heart ; 

That kiss of love, I feel it yet ; 
And death may chill my mortal part, 
But cannot make my soul forget. 
Through every nerve I feel it thrill : 
She loved me then — she loves me still. 

When driving on the mountain wave, 

In danger, near the rocky shore, 
My mother's blessing made me brave, 
And nerved me for the trial-hour. 
Small were my terrors on the sea ; 
I knew my mother prayed for me. 



94 LOVE. 

Night came ; with toil and pain oppressed 

I dreamed her worshipped form was near, 
And on my cheek a kiss impressed — 
The same to infant memory dear. 
The morning found me well again ; 
My mother's kiss had cured the pain. 

Through different climes my course I 've steered, 

And various hardships had to prove ; 
But 'midst them all my heart was cheered 
By thinking on my mother's love. 

A mother's love — what tongue can tell 
How much she loves, how true, how well. 



R 



emembrance. 



I 'm growing old, I feel 't is so, 

And Time and I must shortly part; 

But young or old, midst weal and woe, 
One image lingers round my heart. 

'Tis her's whom I in childhood loved, 
With all my heart, with truth sincere ; 

And wheresoever I have roved 
That image ever has been near. 

It will not quit its life-long hold, 
But nestles in my bosom's core ; 



JACK'S HARD PARTING. 95 

It will not let my heart grow old, 
Nor chill, till life shall be no more. 

Away to distant lands she sailed — 

A mighty ocean rolls between ; 
But time and distance both have failed 

Her image from my eyes to screen. 

I see her now before me stand, 

And clasp her to my thrilling breast ; 

And in my own her dear loved hand 
Again is warmly, fondly pressed. 

There must be wrinkles on her brow ; 

Her raven hair must now be gray ; 
Still as I loved, I love her now — 

For love like mine can ne'er decay. 

On earth we ne'er may meet again, 
Nor know I that she thinks of me ; 

Still, in my heart she will remain 
Till death shall set my spirit free. 



act? s 



lard I artina, 



The peeping moon, the tell-tale moon, 

Is waning in the sky ; 
And must I leave you, love, so soon ? 

My Nancy, dear, good-bye! 



96 LOVE. 

My shipmates all on board have gone, 

Yet still I linger here ; 
And must I leave you, worshipped one ? 

Good-bye, my Nancy dear ! 

Yet let me fold you to my heart ; 

One kiss, and then away. 
'T is hard indeed from you to part — 

Adieu ! 't is almost day. 

Yet one kiss more before I go, 
Then must I leave you here ; 

You have my heart, you have my vow — 
Adieu, my Nancy dear ! 

The clouds reflect the rising sun ; 

I must no longer dwell : 
Good-bye, my love, my cherished one, 

My Nancy dear, farewell ! 



R4 to Ra 



omi 



Entreat me not to leave thee, 

Naomi, — do not so ; 
Thy daughter would not grieve thee, 
But from thee will not go. 

With thee I '11 bide, with thee I '11 roam, 
And where thou dwellest make my home. 



JiTZSSES. 97 

And wheresoe'er thou diest, 

There will thy daughter die ; 
The grave wherein thou liest, 
There will thy daughter lie. 

Thy people, mother, shall be mine, 
And Ruth will kneel at Israel's shrine. 



K 



isses. 



Of kisses, how many of diff 'rent degrees ! 
Some given to pleasure, some given to tease ; 
Some ardent and warm, some chilling to freeze. 
The kiss of politeness, although not amiss, 
Is hardly deserving the name of a kiss. 

The kiss of a Judas — not common, we hope ; — 
The kiss of an image ; the toe of a Pope ; 
The young lady's kiss who with Tom would elope ; 
The kisses of friendship ; the kiss of good-will ; 
The kiss of affection — ah ! that's better still. 

And is there another that 's better than this ? 
Yes ; far, far more precious is love's honeyed kiss : 
Where souls are united, and heart to heart beats, 
A love-kiss is sweetest of all the known sweets. 
A love-kiss — how rare! underneath the great sun 
How few can say, truly, they ever had one! 



98 LOVE. 

How many are married, and boast of their bliss, 

Who never yet tasted an honest love-kiss ! 

A youth lured by beauty, and miss, in her teens, 

May kiss, and yet neither may know what love means. 

No passion so gen'rous, so lasting, and strong, 

Love thinketh no evil, love doeth no wrong ; 

' Midst Fortune's vagaries, her smile or her frown, 

The wave cannot quench it, the floods cannot drown. 

Though not all unselfish, real lovers would give 

Their all, even life, that their loved ones might live. 

Though hundreds of kisses your mem'ries recall, 
One love-kiss remembered outvalues them all ; 
So, 'mongst the acquaintance you have on your list, 
Some dozens, perhaps, you've been kissed by or 

kissed. 
You count them all friends, but, tried in the long run, 
You '11 think yourself lucky if you have found one. 
And so 'tis with kisses — though many you get, 
A love-kiss, perhaps, you have not tasted yet. 



ss 



(Reply to the question, " What is love ? ") 

Love is of different kinds — the meek, 
The ardent, and the strong ; 

The love that does, or does not, speak, 
The old love, and the young. 



TO MISS . g 9 



You ask me, " What is love ? " That kind 

That with the truth prevails ; 
That something which two hearts can bind, 

And never fades or fails. 

How can I answer ? You must feel, 

To know it as it is ; 
No pictured language can reveal 

This highest human bliss. 

There is a mystic cord, a tie 

That cannot be denned, 
That round the tendrils of the heart, 

If fairly once entwined, 

The binding knot will not unfold, 

Howe'er severely tried ; 
It will not slip, nor loose its hold, 

Nor can e'en death divide. 

There is a cause for this, we know, 

But all in vain we try 
To search it out — it vaunts no show, 

And shuns the prying eye. 

Love, admiration, sympathy, 

Are terms full often used 
To explain the hidden mystery — 

Terms often much abused. 

Tis more than these, though here we find 

A portion of the whole 
Of that mysterious, undefined 

Quintessence of the soul. 



100 LOVE. 



The wise and simple, rich and poor, 
Its binding power have known ; 

Still, " What is love ? " you ask once more, 
But answer there is none. 

It is a language of the heart, 
That 's to the tongue denied — 

To angels only known in part, 
Yet none who feel can hide. 

You '11 glimpse it in the soul-lit eye, 

That half reveals its bliss ; 
'Tis present in the half-born sigh, 

And in the heart-felt kiss. 

In all the small concerns of life 

Its presence may. be found ; 
The loving husband, faithful wife, 

Make home a holy ground. 

Both time and distance love defies, 

For mem'ry will retain 
The loved one's image on the eyes, 
Pictured with never-fading dyes, 

And graven on the brain. 

It moulds the face ; it tones the voice ; 

It governs every move : 
Whether we sorrow or rejoice, 

Love bears the stamp of love. 

Beside the dying loved one's bed 
You '11 mark the tender care ; 



SOME THIRTY YEARS AGO. 101 

And, to the mem'ry of the dead, 
The blinding tears in secret shed, 
The grief that none must share. 

A father's and a mother's love 
Is strong — so Heaven designed ; 

Brothers and sisters often prove 
Affectionately kind ; 

And even friendship has the power 
Congenial souls to bind. 

But wedded love, where hearts are one, 

Expect not to explain ; 
It never has or can be done, 

And all attempts are vain. 



rjirty Y ( 



>ome Viaminv ' ears 



Some thirty years ago I met 

A lass with raven hair ; 
I loved her then, I love her yet, 

For she was kind and fair. 

Time gathers wrinkles on her brow ; 

Her crown has lost its jet ; 
Yet still I keep my marriage vow — 

There 's witchery in her yet. 



102 LOVE. 



From human faults she is not free ; 

Sometimes she '11 scold and fret ; 
Yet she is ever dear to me — 

I love my old wife yet. 

Time wears while going down the hill, 

But hearts will not forget ; 
As first I loved, I love her still, 

Aye ! dearly love her yet. 

Time changes all things, we are told, 

But Love is Time's own pet ; 
Though old as Time, while Time grows old, 

Love never altered yet. 

Though some affirm Love has decayed, 

And can't with Time abide, 
Most true the poet sang and said, 
" That was not Love that died.'' 



3 only know iJ Qove Men. 



You ask me is my love so fair 
That none can rank above her ? 

I do not know, I do not care ; 
I only know I love her. 

You ask me are her gifts so rare 
That all the wise approve her ? 



OWEN. 103 

I do not know, I do not care ; 
I .only know I love her. 

You ask is she of wealth the heir — 

Enough all faults to cover ? 
I do not know, I do not care ; 

I only know I love her. 

If beauty, fame, nor fortune are 

Her charms — who can discover 
A cause for love ? I do not care ; 

I know I dearly love her. 

Howe'er to others she appear, 

If I to love can move her, 
For this, for this alone, I care — 

To love me as I love her. 

Uncounted charms she may possess — 

I have not conned them over ; 
But be they more or be they less, 

I love, and still will love her. 



Jan. 6, 1877. 



'wen. 



How charming looks the setting sun 
When lovely Effie smiles on me, 

And pleasant sounds the evening gun, 
With Effie seated on my knee. 



104 LOVE. 

But when my love is far away, 

No pleasure brings the setting sun ; 

And, as he dips his latest ray, 

How mournful sounds the evening gun. 

I hie me to my lonely bed, 

And vainly seek oblivious rest ; 

But there 's no rest for Owen's head, 
Whose pillow was his Effie's breast. 

My country calls me far away, 
To guard the banner of the free : 

My rebel heart will not obey ; 
It clings, dear Effie, still to thee. 



] \)& Porsaken. 



(Lines on seeing a young lady, whose guilty lover had forsaken her, walking 
alone in the evening.) 

Poor hapless girl ! a face less fair 
Did thy false lover's heart ensnare ; 

Yet none regardeth thee. 
And must you, like a wand'ring sprite, 
Rove unprotected through the night, 

Exposed to obloquy ? 

Have you no friend on whom to lean 
That slender frame ? Will no one screen 
Thee and thy fame from harm ? 



THE FORSAKEN. 105 



Has beauty lost its 'tractive power ? 
Or hast thou, in unlucky hour, 
Resigned its fairest charm ? 

That lovely form was ne'er designed 
By Heaven to clothe a guilty mind ; 

That sigh, which none could feign, 
Might e'en suspicion's self persuade, 
Howe'er thine erring steps have strayed, 

Some virtues still remain. 

Oh ! has the cruel spoiler's art 

Played 'round thy fond, confiding heart ? 

Thou base seduction's prey ! 
Though scarce a step from virtue's door, 
Say, hast thou sunk to rise no more 

Till the last judgment day ? 

Oh ! could I from the scroll of Fame 
Blot out the record of thy shame, 

That single action mine 
I 'd rather boast than all that 's feigned, 
Or all that sensual man e'er gained 

At yielding beauty's shrine. 



)ona — \2p\)e Oataract. 



A hermit lived by the mountain-side, 
Where the cataract tumbled along ; 

* Written many years before, but first published March 23, 1850. 



106 LOVE. 

Where the bald eagle stretched his wings with pride 
O'er the lofty pine by the mountain-side, 

Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 

His lovely daughter, for whom I sighed, 

The fair burden of many a song, 
From my father's cottage one day I 'spied ; 
I snatched up my cap and away I hied 
Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long ; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 

I clasped her around her slender waist, 

And I urged my passion so strong. 
But she would not hear me ; she was in haste, 
Nor longer time with me would waste, 

Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long ; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 

Away she flew to ford the stream 

Where the current was rapid and strong. 
She fell, and I heard her piercing scream, 
As she floated down the raging stream, 

Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long ; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 

On the wings of love and fear I flew ; 

My limbs, like a giant's, were strong. 
Her floating tresses first met my view, 

As she passed the roaring waters through, 

Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long ; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 



WOMAN. 107 



I seized her in my brawny arms, 
And bore her in safety along. 
My bosom throbbed as I viewed her charms, 
While love's soft clarion rung to arms, 

Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long ; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 

I placed her on a flowery bed, 

That grew the wild rocks among. 
While on my breast she pillowed her head, 
Love flushed her cheek, and the lily fled, 

Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long ; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 

My cottage now contains the maid ; 

A fairer ne'er shown in song. 
Her silken tresses with flowers I braid, 
And clasp to my bosom beneath the shade 

Where the cataract tumbled along, 'long, 'long ; 
Where the cataract tumbled along. 



W 



oman. 



(Written in Auld Lang Syne, but true now as ever.) 

Beneath the stars that deck the sky, 
And shed their lustre from on high, 



108 LOVE. 

There 's naught with woman's worth can vie 

For beauty, faith, or charity ; 

So high beyond all else she soars, 

That even lordly man adores. 

Who ever gazed on her sweet face, 

Or felt her tender, chaste embrace, 

Or viewed her fair and graceful form, 

By Heaven ordained man's heart to warm, 

But while the beauteous prize he pressed, 

With grateful heart her Maker blest. 

Art thou unhappy ? To her go ; 

Her smile's the antidote to woe. 

Oh, could I like her Ledyard sing, 

I 'd make the lands he traversed ring, 

Till ev'ry lordling of the sod 

Should choose her for his household god. 

In childhood, who but she could save 
God's beauteous image from the grave ? 
Who has not marked her feeling mind ? 
In sickness, who like her is kind ? 
And though through ev'ry clime he roam, 
Poor man without her finds no home. 

In youth, when all our spirits dance, 

She melts us with her witching glance. 

See next the matron ; by her side 

A cherub sits, its father's pride. 

Who guides the young and pliant mind, 

Till the young shoot to heaven's inclined? 



WHERE ARE THE LADS AND THE LASSES? 109 

If guilty, who like her will strive 
To set it right, and bid it live ? 
Oh ! hear an anxious mother's prayer : 
In mercy, God, my children spare ! 
On me, not them, thy judgment pour, 
Thou whom I tremblingly adore. 

Oh, what had man without thee proved, 
Woman in every clime beloved ! 
Though selfish men in fetters bind 
The budding beauties of thy mind, 
And half thy virtues are not known, 
Or in the cot nor on the throne, 

Yet with thee be 't my fate to dwell, 

For without thee this earth were hell — 

A desert wild, a joyless waste, 

Devoid of virtues, arts, or taste. 

Exiled eternally from thee, 

E'en heaven would prove no heaven to me. 

March 30, 1850. 



Wl^ere now are trje Qads and trje Qasses ? 



Where now are the lads and the lasses 
To whom I in childhood was known ? 

Departed from me, as time passes, 
And now they have left me alone. 



110 LOVE. 

Not one on the earth I discover, 
Not one to whom now I can say, 
" In childhood we well knew each other ; " — 
All, all now have gone on their way. 

Their souls have gone home to the Giver ; 

On earth I shall see them no more : 
Their bark has gone over the river, 

And left me alone on the shore. 

And yet not alone ; for, in fancy, 
I bring them all to me again : 

Ben, Jenny, Eliza, and Nancy 
In mem'ry will ever remain. 

And many more, dear to me ever, 

Surround me, though seemingly gone. 

And will they forsake me ? Oh, never ! 
They never will leave me alone. 

Old relics to me they are bringing ; 

E'en Time will not let them depart : 
Around them my arms are still clinging ; 

I feel them still warming my heart. 



Mowers as well as (4)9 



oms, 



Yes, there are flowers as well as thorns 

Bestrew the path of life : 
For you this aching bosom mourns, 

My daughter and my wife. 



QUEEN VICTORIA. Ill 



And must my heart dejected pine 
For sweets that are my own ? 

The rose without a thorn is mine, 
The violet ere 'tis blown. 

My feet in thorny paths have led, 

My spirit needs repose; 
Oh ! let me lay my drooping head 

By my sweet, thornless rose ! 

God grant my tender violet grow 

In loveliest bloom ; 
And when my head in death lies low, 
Their tears may o'er my ashes flow, 

Unchanging love's perfume. 



Vi< 



'ueen A icTona 



(The following lines were written at the time of the Queen's coronation.) 

Victoria, Queen of the beautiful Isles, 

The land of our parents, d' ye see, 
Across the Atlantic we greet thee with smiles, 
And send thee our compliments, free from the wiles 

Of sycophants : listen to me. 

The crown of the kingdom has circled thy brows, 

And thine was the oath to defend 
A people who cheerfully paid thee their vows; 
Art married, fair Queen — to Old England, thy spouse, 

Stand pledged until death to befriend. 



112 LOVE. 

The task is most easy, the method is plain — 

Endeavor thine husband to bless ; 
The poor and unhappy in mercy sustain, 
Be grateful to Him who sends sunshine and rain, 
Seek peace, and trust God for success. 



an 



My harp I '11 to the willow bind, 

And watch beneath the mournful tree, 
To listen if the sighing wind 

Will wake its strings to minstrelsy ; 
For well I know its notes will prove 
A requiem to my sainted love. 

Aloft her angel spirit soars, 

And wings toward heaven its certain way, 
To meet on those delightful shores 
The joys of everlasting day. 

A soul more free from vice than thine, 
Ne'er offered at Immanuel's shrine. 

Affection wears the weed of woe, 

And tender Friendship's tear will start ; 
But would you cureless sorrow know, 
Come, read a husband's breaking heart. 
Alone amidst the busy crowd, 
His joys are buried in her shroud. 



A VAUNT, DESPAIR! 113 



Beloved wife, till death's keen dart 

Shall set this mourning spirit free, 
Thy virtues, graven on my heart, 
Shall consecrate that heart to thee. 
Another love it ne'er has known, 
And still it throbs for thee alone. 

" Farewell ! farewell ! " methinks I hear 
Her parting spirit softly sigh ; 
Oh, fare thee well, my Mary dear ! 

For thee I 've lived, like thee would die. 
Oh ! may my soul with thine appear ; 
For where thou art my heaven is there. 



vaunt, Despair 



r j< 



Never, ah ! never more in life 

Will it be my delight to prove 
The blessing of a loving wife, 
A wife whom I can truly love. 
No loving heart again will press 
Against mine own, mine own to bless. 

Friends see I many passing 'round, 

And many kind and good there are ; 
But none to love me here are found, 
Till age, old age suggests despair. 
Despair ! he is the coward's foe, 
A name my race refuse to know. 



114 LOVE. 

Despair ! I have abjured his name ; 

He never comes within my cot : 
Though I were blind, and deaf, and lame, 

Avaunt, despair ! I know thee not. 
I have refused his yoke to take, 

Have met him with a steady eye ; 
And, though the silver cord should break, 

Would still his serpent power defy. 
Hope ever nestles in my heart — 
Tells me she never will depart. 

Hope, smiling Hope ! thy beauteous face 

Has yet a charm for every woe. 
Kind benefactor of our race, 

Man's chiefest blessing here below, 
Who clings to thee can conquer care, 
And bid defiance to despair. 



Woman Oompared witr? trje rffcontQs. 



Some women like January, I know — 

As stiff as ice, as cold as snow. 

'Tis something strange such birds should pair 

I envy none such frosty fare. 



WOMAN COMPARED WITH THE MONTHS. 115 

Some women there are like February, — 
That 's something nearer spring, d' ye see, — 
Sometimes quite warm, but that's so rare, 
If I had one I 'd want a pair. 

Some women like blustering March there be — 

More fretful than the raging sea. 

Of noise and strife would you beware, 

Of all such women take care ! take care ! 

Some women are like an April day — 
They laugh and cry their time away. . 
Sometimes they 're foul, and sometimes fair ; 
If you get two you 've one to spare. 

Some women are like a bright May morn, 
Or like a rose without a thorn — 
Delightful, useful, sweet, and fair ; 
But then, such women are wondrous rare. 

Some women are like a day in June — 
Prolific Nature's bounteous boon. 
Who gets one such will lack no heir ; 
And such were Rome's peculiar care. 



116 LOVE. 

Some women are like a hot July ; 
With them wild Love dwells constantly. 
For wanton joys all risks they'll dare : 
For all such women let who will care. 

Some women are like an August eve — 
They '11 promise fair, but oft deceive ; 
Their lightning squalls let men beware — 
Who gets one such must guard his hair. 

Some women September well will suit, 
When ripening hangs the tempting fruit. 
To get one such shall be my care ; 
Will you be mine, my charming fair ? 

©ctofre/z>. 

Some women are like October seen — 
Their withering leaf scarce holds its green ; 
Yet sound 's the trunk, nor yet quite bare, 
Though Plenty's horn was furnished there. 

Some women are like November proved — 
They love not, nor can e'er be loved ; 
They 're neither raw, nor roast, nor rare, 
Nor with them can you comfort share. 



BEAUTY. 117 

Some women are like December tough — 
They're coarse, and loud, and dull, and rough. 
They still look foul though e'er so fair — - 
If you have one you 've one to spare. 



I3eaut 



y- 



What is beauty's fairest form ? A transient, fading flower ; 
And, like the rose, 
It buds and blows, 
The plaything of an hour. 

But yet, with all its frailties, still it steals upon our hearts, 
And common sense 
Is no defense 
Against its subtle arts. 

For gold and silver, wit and sense, it passes current here : 
If 't is but nice 
We pay the price, 
But all agree 't is dear. 

Though scarce possessed before 'tis lost, to win't our all's 
the stake : 
We gain the prize 
With prayers and sighs ; 
It fades, and we forsake. 



/ 

118 LOVE. 



(On presenting her with some lilies of the valley.) 



These are lilies of the valley 
That to you, dear girl, I bring ; 

They are fairest of the flowers 
That adorn our early spring. 

Though, modest and retiring, 
They hide themselves away, 

The fragrance of their loveliness 
Their hiding-place betray. 

Fit emblem of the modesty, 
The sweetness, and the grace 

That 's pictured, in its purity, 
Upon a maiden's face. 



cl I \emember. 



In days long since departed 

I dearly loved a maid, 
For beauties that can never pall, 

For charms that never fade. 



THE LASSIE OF MONATIQUOT. 119 

My hairs are growing gray now, 

But I remember yet ; 
The charms that won my fancy then, 

My heart will not forget. 

And memory brings her back now 

In all the bloom of youth — 
With all her winning graces fresh, 

And all her changeless truth. 

So freshly to my eyes now 

Her maiden beauties bloom, 
The impression was a sure one ; 

It lives beyond the tomb. 

Yet scarce can I regret her ; 

This world was not her home : 
A brighter and a better is 

Where sorrows never come. 

No marble rests above her, 

To tell where goodness lies ; 
My bosom is her monument, 
Her epitaph my sighs. 
Oct. \%. 184Q. 



(§P9e Qassie of \ ffeonatiquot. 

The lassie of Monatiquot ! 

So fair and lovely is the maid 
Her charms can never be forgot 

Till all the lights of memory fade. 



120 LOVE. 



Her dimpled cheeks of rosebud dye, 
Her laughing eyes of sparkling blue, 

With lips that honeyed sweets imply 
Embracing gems of pearly hue. 

Her glossy crown of bright brown hair 
Is parted on her splendid brow ; 

When loosened, veils a bosom fair 
As e'er enshrined a lover's vow. 

In vain the pencil would portray 
The sweet expression of her face ; 

And all in vain the poet's lay 
Its winning witchery to trace. 

A look both eloquent and calm ; 

A form where ne'er a fault appears ; 
A voice that never fails to charm, 

Like music, that, entrancing, cheers. 

There is a sweetness in her smile 
That makes her presence ever dear, 

When absent mem'ry clings the while, 
And holds her image ever near. 

Fair lassie of Monatiquot ! 

The charms that never fade are thine ; 
For goodness harbors in your cot, 

And there the Christian graces twine. 

My light is drawing near the shade ; 

The old cannot be young again ; 
But having seen thee, lovely maid, 

I surely have not lived in vain. 



Feb. 28, 1872. 



RETROSPECTIVE. 121 



% 



eTrospecTive. 



? 



Ah ! here's the old house where my Jenny I courted ; 

The grape and the woodbine are clinging there still ; 
And there 's the old swing, where so often we sported, 

Made fast to the elm at the foot of the hill. 

Dear Jenny, though time with our heads has been busy 
Our hearts are untouched, and our spirits are light : 

Again I behold you, the wild little huzzy, 

Who, sometimes my torment, was still my delight. 

Jump in — let me swing you ; the days of your childhood 
You have not forgotten, nor can I forget ; 

Your race through the fields, or your romps in the wild- 
wood, 
You still can remember ; there 's fun in you yet. 

How varied the scenes since, as children together, 
We pictured the future all sunshiny fair ; 

Bear witness the wrinkles that on our brows gather 
How grievous our trials ; yet hope still is there. 

For love lent its charms to uphold and console us, 
And perfumed our path, that was thorny and wild : 

In vain would Misfortune subdue and control us, 
For Love in our dwelling with confidence smiled. 

The springs of our youth will return to us never, 
Yet cheerfulness still for our portion we claim : 

Then sing and be gay, wife, to me dear as ever ; 

Though youth has departed, our hearts are the same. 



122 LOVE. 

The old house is falling, the old swing is rotten, 
The vines have grown old, and are passing away ; 

Yet ne'er shall the scenes of our youth be forgotten, 
And ne'er shall the love of our childhood decay. 



'wn, 



Tune — Jessie, the Flower of Dunblane. 

I roamed o'er the highlands and searched through the 
valley 
While seeking a lass to be bone of my bone : 
When down by the river I saw my sweet Sally, 
I wooed her, I won her, and now she 's my own — 
And now she 's my own, and now she 's my own ; 
I wooed her, I won her, and now she's my own. 

Oh, bright was the day when I met with my Sally ; 

Kind fortune befriending, her favor I won : 
She blushed when I hailed her the rose of the valley, 
And warmly entreated to call her my own — 
To call her my own, to call her my own ; 
And warmly entreated to call her my own. 

Oh ! who can describe the sweet charms of the maiden ? 

The sun on a fairer has never yet shone : 
The echoes around with her praises are laden ; 

She 's good as she 's lovely, my dear one, my own — 
My dear one, my own — my dear one, my own ; 
She 's good as she 's lovely, my dear one, my own. 



WOMAN'S LOVE. 123 



Oh ! joy to the heart of her father and mother, 

Who gave me their rosebud before it was blown ; 
The hills nor the valleys can't boast such another 
As my dearest Sally, my beauty, my own — 
My beauty, my own — my beauty, my own ; 
As my dearest Sally, my beauty, my own. 

Oh, bless'd be the day when, beside the fair river, 

Allured by her music, I found her alone : 
Though fear of offending my heart caused to quiver, 
I wooed her, I won her, and now she 's my own — 
And now she's my own, and now she's my own ; 
I wooed her, I won her, and now she 's my own. 

The joys of my heart since I won my sweet Sally, 
To none but the true-hearted lover are known ; 
Her sweetness diffuses a joy through the valley ; 

She 's loved and she 's honored, my true one, my own — 
My true one, my own — my true one, my own ; 
She 's loved and she 's honored, my true one, my own. 



Woman's Q 



ove. 



Oh ! dear to me is woman's love, 
More dear than all on earth beside ; 

Nor can I think of joys above 
If woman's love be there denied. 



124 LOVE. 

Ten thousand pleasures earth affords 
To please the taste, the fancy warm ; 

But none the heart of man records 

Like woman's love, that priceless charm. 

Around the world for treasure rove, 
And gain and count your jewels o'er ; 

Win every gem but woman's love, 
But, lacking that, you still are poor. 

The last it was, the greatest good 
That Heaven to man in mercy gave ; 

And woman's love unchanged has stood, 
To bless the cradle and the grave. 



W 



oman, 



Let those who ne'er her value knew, 
Sweet woman's worth deny ; 

With cold indifference virtue view, 
Displayed in beauty's eye ! 

I envy not the flinty soul 

That ne'er affection felt ; 
The heart where love has no control, 

That beauty cannot melt. 



* First lines ever published by the author, in Ladies' Magazine, Boston, 
Mass., about 1807. 



WHERE LOVE IS NOT, THERE IS NO HOME. 125 

Let stoics frown at lovers' bliss, 

And woman's charms defy ; 
Be 't mine to taste the honeyed kiss, 

And catch the tender sigh. 



Vv \)eve Qove is not, JQere is no 



ome. 



The world is too full of contention and wrath ; 

111 words are the evils to dread : 
A heartless expression throws thorns in our path, 

And maddens the heart and the head. 

An ill-disposed husband or bad-tempered wife, 

Found either in palace or cot, 
Prevent all the joys and the pleasures of life, 

And where they dwell comfort is not. 

While some know the way to be happily blest, 
Their heart-cheering method they try ; 

By words, looks, and actions, so kindly expressed, 
111 humor and strife they defy. 

Go over the world with no pleasures denied, 

Through cities and villages roam ; 
You '11 find this a truth whereso'er you abide, 

Where love is not, there is no home, home, home, 

Where love is not there is no home. 



'n William Qloyd \J[ 



arrison. 



Fixed as the granite mountains stand 

While o'er them sulphurous lightnings flash, 
Or island rocks sublimely grand 

While ocean billows round them dash, 
So, Freedom, stands thy noble son, 
The firm, true-hearted Garrison. 

In vain the slanderer wings his dart 
With angry zeal and envious eye ; 
Back from the pure, unsullied heart 
The foiled and broken missiles fly. 

Justice, and Truth, and Freedom claim 
The post to guard their warrior's fame 



No traitor's blood is in his veins, 

No shrinking nerves or jaundiced eye ; 
He strikes to break the bondsmen's chains 
And in their cause would do or die : 
Though friends desert and foes defame, 
He swerves not from his righteous aim. 



130 PERSONAL. 

Well Afric's ransomed children know ; 

The mighty debt they yet will pay 
When, victors o'er their tyrant foe, 

They hail their Independent Day. 
Go, search the world on every shore 

Where Freedom owns a faithful son, 
And written on his bosom's core 

You '11 find the name of Garrison. 
Freedom has fixed his image there, 
And roused his heart to do and dare. 

Will He who armed him for the fight, 
And led him still to victory on, 

Desert the cause of truth and right — 
Abandon thee, brave Garrison ? 

A voice is heard from Calvary's hill, 
" Fear not, for I am with thee still." 

With thee as when, in Freedom's van, 
You strove to beat oppression down ; 
When, battling for the rights of man, 
You scarce escaped the martyr's crown ; 
With thee to second every stroke 
That rends the chain and breaks the yoke. 

The nation's voice is with thee now — 

At first in whispers soft and low ; 
But now it shakes the mountain's brow, 
A terror to the guilty foe. 
Justice and Freedom, hand in hand, 
Shall marshall Victory 'round the land. 



JOHN BROWN. 131 



Though Treason, with chameleon power, 

May change its colors to deceive, 
Its fate is fixed ; its trial-hour 

Will leave it scarce a friend to grieve. 
And those who followed in its train 
Will mourn their blasted hopes in vain. 



Thoughts suggested by the Sacrifice of 



0911 D 



rown. 



'Tis done, the savage deed is done ! 

Oh, base Virginia, shame to thee ! 
Shame to your foolish, braggart son ! * 

Shame to your boasted chivalry ! 

Oh, brave old man ! whose daring hands 
Were raised to set the bondmen free — 

To break Oppression's galling bands, 
And strike a blow for Liberty. 

A victim to Virginia's fear, 

In Freedom's cause the hero dies : 

A glory circles round his bier, 
While in the dust thine honor lies. 



* Governor Wise. 



132 PERSONAL. 

Thou should'st have claimed him for thine own 
With Patrick Henry's wreathed his name ; 

It had a halo round thee thrown, 
Rekindling Freedom's altar-flame. 

E'en had his weapon failed to spare, 
'Twas base the brave old man to slay — 

The man who laid your folly bare, 

And showed you where your weakness lay. 

By cruel wrong to frenzy driven, 
John Brown, the fearless, good, and brave, 

Believed himself the elect of Heaven 
To break the yoke and free the slave. 

Go, now, of gallant Henry boast; 

Brown was his brother — Freedom's child : 
Undaunted, each defied a host, 

And both by cowards were reviled. 

Successful, one is known to fame — 

A patriot ; one a rebel dies : 
Alike their object — cause, the same — 

Their struggle for an equal prize. 

Henry, for self and country's weal, 
Resolved on " liberty or death : " 

Brown, with a high and holy zeal, 

For the poor slaves resigned his breath. 

Dishonored droops Virginia's star ; 

Her 'scutcheon bears the murd'rers' seal : 
On Freedom's breast she leaves a scar 

That time can never, never heal. 

December, 1859. 



PRESIDENT JAMES MONROE. 133 



bin 



es 



On the occasion of the removal of the remains of the lamented hero Lawrence, 
from Halifax, by a public-spirited gentleman of Salem — Captain 
Crowninshield. 

Their sable bark flew over the wave 
To bring the corse of the hero home ; 

They raised him up from his bloody grave, 
And now in mournful sadness come. 

They pay him the tribute of a tear, 

And, sorrowing, bear him over the surge ; 

They fire the minute-guns over his bier, 
While the mournful music sounds his dirge. 

His monument stands on his native shore, 

With honors decked and with laurels crowned ; 

The tears of Liberty watered it o'er, 

And the sighs of friendship burst around. 

With aching hearts they bade him adieu, 
And breathed a prayer for his rest on high : 

Farewell, farewell to the patriot true, 
Who dared in his country's cause to die. 



I resident 



ames l l foonroe, 

(On his Birthday.) 



Let Albion's prostituted lyre with adulation ring, 
And servile poets join, for hire, to praise a feeble kinj 



134 PERSONAL. 

Columbia asks no pensioned bard to sound her chieftain s 

praise ; 
His merits are the Muse's reward, and prompter of her lays. 
Ten thousand harps by freemen strung shall tremble with 

his name, 
While notes of praise from every tongue shall swell the 

patriot's fame. 
No crown for which ambition pines, no diamonds deck his 

crest, 
But 'round his brow the laurel twines, and honor gems his 

breast. 
In Freedom's ranks the stripling stood, and fearless faced 

his country's foe, 
Poured out the tribute of his blood, and helped to make a 

tyrant bow. 
In manhood's prime the statesman proved Columbia's faith- 
ful friend, 
Still lab'ring for the land he loved, still struggling to 

defend. 
In riper years his honored head is with the garland crowned; 
The laurel wreath his blood has fed is round his temple 

wound. 
In vain the British savage howled along Columbia's shore, 
For beauty and for booty prowled, to plunder and deflour : 
Monroe * our favorite chief f directs to guard the insulted 

land ; 
Booty and beauty he protects with Jackson's gallant band. 
Long may he live to hear the note of gratitude and love ; 
May it circling o'er his country float, and bear his praise 

above. 

* Then Secretary of War. t General Jackson, at New Orleans. 



THE THREE-CORNERED HAT. 135 



'rjree-cornered Mat. 



Electioneering Song on Hon. Benjamin Austin. 

I like the old man with the three-cornered hat ; 

It reminds me of '75, 
When the hearts of our fathers went pat, pit-a-pat, 
And Liberty scarce was alive. 
Cho. — I like the old man with the three-cornered hat, 

And the honest old visage that shows under that. 

It bids me remember the tales I have heard, 

The aged report of old-time, 
When the ship Massachusetts by Hancock was steered, 

And a three-cornered hat was no crime. 

He puts me in mind of a sturdy old oak 

That has weathered the rough, pelting blast : 

Though a limb by rude lightning was torn off and broke, 
The well-rooted trunk holds it fast. 

I like the old trunk, for its scions will prove 

An honor to Liberty's shore — 
The ornament, beauty, and pride of the grove 

When the storm-shattered oak is no more. 



136 PERSONAL. 






ol?n Q[. Wittier. 



Gifted poets sing your praise, 

All to honor you unite ; 
Let me add my humble lays, 

Though the off 'ring 's but a mite. 

Lover of the human kind, 
Advocate of all that's good, 

Just and gen'rous, brave, refined, 
You the trial-test have stood. 

List'ning to your patriot lyre, 
I have felt the crimson-glow 

Warm my heart with strong desire 
Where your bugle called to go. 

When in mercy's cause you plead, 
I could lay my weapons by ; 

When you mourned the patriot dead, 
I for country, too, could die. 

When allured from wisdom's way, 
With your faith I look above ; 

I, too, feel I cannot stray 

Quite beyond a Father's love. 

Thanks for all the good I've gained 
List'ning to your charming lyre — 

Harp of beauty, all unstained, 
Fit to join the heavenly choir. 



JOHN- G. WHITTIER. 137 

You are three-score years and ten ; 

May the Reaper pass you by, 
Still to bless your fellow-men 

With a name that cannot die. 



Feb. 2, \\ 



n G[-. Wbitti 



er. 



" Peace, peace !" the Christian poet cries 
In notes that wake the trumpet's sound - 
Like the artillery of the skies, 

That shakes the firmament around. 

They sound above the highest hill, 
And echo in the deepest dell : 

Who hears must feel his pulses thrill, 
Must feel his patriot bosom swell. 

" Peace, peace !" he cries ; let Justice sleep, 
Or waking, Mercy's voice obey, 
In notes that tempt her sword to leap 
From out its sheath, her foes to slay. 

Peace, peace, on earth — good-will to all ; 

In peace maintain the truth and right ; 
But ev'ry note's a cannon-ball, 
And ev'ry trill 's a bugle-call 

To rouse up warriors for the fight. 



138 PERSONAL. 



Yet has his trump no dubious sound ; 

Justice in ev'ry pulse he feels ; 
While Mercy clings his heart around, 

And there they both have set their seals. 



Aug. 18, 1866. 



Lines, on reading " Uncle Tonis Cabin,'''' addressed to 

,. Harriet I5eecr;er @Stowe 



There's music in the human heart, — 

It is a harp of many strings ; 
And, Harriet, thine the potent art 

Beneath whose touch it thrilling sings ! 

Now, calm and low, the music tells 
Like the ^Eolian's whispered sounds ; 

Now like the trumpet's clang it swells, 
And wildly shakes its prison-bounds ! 

As soft as gentle Pity's tones 

It steals the tear-drops from our eyes ; 
Or, like the storm-rent forest's groans, 

The maddening notes of vengeance rise ! 

Fair minstrel of the human heart, 
Who bids its hidden springs rejoice, 

Play on till every fibre start 
That chords with Freedom's cheering voice ! 



FREEMAN HUNT. 139 



The despot's heart, though clothed in steel, 
And ribbed with selfish interest 'round, 

Shall yet be made thy power to feel, 
And echo forth a human sound ! 



May 31, 1852. 



Hreeman Hunt. 



The soldier risks his valued life 

To win an honored name ; 
His thoughts, amid the battle's strife, 

On Victory and Fame. 

The sailor nails his saucy flag 

Firm to the shattered mast ; 
To Fame he gives his dying brag, 

And proudly breathes his last. 

The statesman strains his highest power 
To guard his country's weal, 

And while her foes before him cower 
She graves his name with steel. 

The preacher in the pulpit tries 

A deathless name to win, 
That may be blazoned in the skies, 

Or Fame's snug niche within. 

The artist strives, nor vainly so, 
To leave his trail behind : 



140 PERSONAL. 



Where fire can burn, or water flow, 
He makes his mark of mind. 

And Fame for thee has found a place, 

Freeman, so aptly named — 
A benefactor to your race, 

For useful virtues famed. 

Right worthy of our praise is he 

Whose charities abound ; 
But he who scatters knowledge free 

Is strewing pearls around. 

From where the light of knowledge shines, 
From where our canvas crowds, 

From lowest vein in deepest mines, 
From mountains in the clouds, 

Your list'ning ear and searching eye 
Crude rays of knowledge drain, 

And from your reservoir supply 
The polished gems again. 

The name of Freeman Hunt will stand 

Among the prized of earth — 
An honor to the Pilgrims' land, 

That gave a Franklin birth. 



Aug. 25, I J 



FREEMAN HUNT. 141 



Preeman Hunt. 



(Editor of the " Merchant's Magazine.") 

The poets are by nature kings ; 

Away on Fancy's wings they rise, 
Soaring above all earthly things, 

To make an empire in the skies. 

And from their castles in the air 

They scatter gems of beauty 'round : 

The good, the beautiful, and rare 
Within the poets' realms are found. 

And oft the Muses them inspire 
To picture many a fairy scene ; 

But there is one whose aim is higher, — 
Hunt, of the " Merchant's Magazine." 

"What is there," asks a doubting youth, 
" That 'bove the muse's wings can soar ? " 
'T is honest, plain, far-searching truth, 
Whose watch-tower looks creation o'er. 

The author of the " Magazine " 

Makes useful truth his aim and pride ; 

And thousands know his work has been 
The merchants' sure and faithful guide. 



142 PERSONAL. 

All honor to the working man 

Whose labor lightens others' toil — 

With nerve to act and skill to plan, 
To draw the wealth from every soil. 

The distant nations own his worth, 
And far and near his praise has rung ; 

They value more his book of truth, 
Than all that e'er our bards have sung. 

March 17, 1855. 



'o tjfeorae I eabody. 



(Of Danvers and London.) 

I like to hear of thee, old man, 
As following out the Christian plan — 
Like some kind spirit from above, 
Dispensing cordial-drops of love. 

What countless prayers for thee ascend, 
Thou rich man's teacher, poor man's friend, 
The loved of nations — either side 
The Atlantic hails thy name with pride. 

The warrior's foot is heard with dread, 
Where desolation marks its tread ; 
And while the conqueror home we hail, 
Our joys are checked by mourners' wail. 



THE MAN WHO, THOUGH LITTLE, IS GREAT. 143 

But thou, where'er thy footsteps fall, 
A bounty bring'st, a blessing call ; 
And hope revives where Want and Care 
Had led their victims to despair. 

Long may you live to bless mankind, 
And win the prize by Heaven designed 
For those who, faithful to their trust, 
Are counted with the good and just. 



an w 



90, "I90UQ9 Qittle, is tfreat. 



Some honor the soldier, some honor the priest, — 
Give all men their due, from the greatest to least ; — 
But one we all honor, and cannot o'errate : 
'Tis that little man who, though little, is great. 

And first, as a soldier, he 's great in the field ; 
For temp'rance he bears both the sword and the shield. 
Who battles her foemen, through county and state ? 
That brave little man who, though little, is great. 

He marshals her armies, and leads in the van, 
And victory still smiles on the brave little man : 
His shot is as sure as the rifle of Fate — 
That brave little man who, though little, is great. 

And next as a priest he is found at his post, 
And fervently prays for the whole human host : 
No obstacles ever his ardor abate, — 
That good little man who, though little, is great. 



144 PERSONAL. 



The blessings of thousands, so justly your due, 
Are offered with prayers, Father Thompson, for you, 
The man who for others toils early and late — 
That good little man who, though little, is great. 

When souls in the balance of Justice are weighed, — 
For bodies count nothing when souls are assayed, — 
The soul of our Thompson will prove sterling weight 
That good little man with a soul that is great. 

Feb. 13, 1847. 



Lines on the Death of my old Master, 

ubbard wliver. 



H 



Farewell, my good old master ; 

Thy Maker calls thee home : 
For thee there is a better world, 

Where death can never come. 

My faithful, good old master, 
While I thy merits scan, 

I feel thou hast not left behind 
A kinder, better man. 

Most honest in thy calling, 
Most faithful to the trust, 

For thee there is reserved a place 
Among the truly just. 



DR. NOAH FI FIELD. 145 

For seven years my master, 

And constant to the end, 
You were a father to my youth, 

A kind and generous friend. 

Nor can I e'er forget thee 

While I on earth remain, 
And hope that, whither thou art gone, 

Our souls may meet again. 



Lines to the Memory of 

\%oc\) (afield, of Weymoutr). 



The winds that now the forests sear, 
Disrobing with their frosty breath, 

Tell us the reaper has been here, 
The universal reaper — Death. 

O'er all things living that can die, 
He holds an undisputed power ; 

And all who live beneath the sky, 

Death-sentenced, wait th' appointed hour. 

He takes the good, he takes the bad ; 

And, sparing neither rich nor poor, 
He takes the joyous and the sad ; 

His aim is true, his dart is sure. 



146 PERSONAL. 

To one he came, not unaware, 

Who long his lifted hand withstood. 

Remorseless Death ! could'st thou not spare 
The kind, the generous, just, and good ? 

For others oft he baffled thee, 

And turned aside thy pointed dart : 

Our prayers are vain — it was to be, 
Or thou hadst spared that noble heart. 

While, half relenting, thy rude hand 
Was gently on his bosom laid, 

The unseen angels 'round him stand 
To twine the wreath that cannot fade. 

His virtue in our memory lives ; 

His skill and kindness known to fame ; 
And while one grateful heart survives, 

That heart will shrine loved Fifield's name. 

Oct. 23, 1867. 



Extempore Lines on hearing of the sudden Death of 

[a) J] li) I • * 

l\ev. onas I erbins. 

The ready need no warning ; 
A minute-man, he stands 



* Mr. Perkins was born at North Bridgewater, Oct. 15, 1790. Com- 
menced preaching for the Union Religious Society of Weymouth and Brain- 
tree, October, 1814. Was ordained pastor, June 15, 1815 ; resigned his 
pastorate in October, i860, and continued to reside with his people until his 
decease, which occurred on Friday, June 26, 1874. 



MISS M. T. 147 

At noon, at night, or morning 
To go when Heaven commands. 

Our Christian friend and neighbor, 

A vet'ran in the field, 
On earth has ceased his labor — 

His ministry is sealed. 

He 's gone across the river, 

Old soldier of the Cross ; 
His soul is with the Giver, 

A gainer by our loss. 

Farewell, kind friend and neighbor, 

Our treasure we resign ; 
For all thy faithful labor 

Shall endless joys be thine. 



June 26, 1874. 



Lines addressed to Miss S. T., of Weymouth, on the Death of her Sister, 



SS 



What heart-cheering sounds are those words, of much 
meaning, 

The home of our Father, the home of our friends, 
When feet have grown weary, and head forward leaning, 

To rest where our journey and sorrow all ends. 



148 PERSONAL. 



The home of our Father, by Jesus made ready — 
The home of our friends who have journeyed before ; 

The light from their mansion shines brightly and steady, 
And Jesus invites to the wide-open door. 

Grieve not that thy loved ones have gone on before thee ; 

Earth still has its claim on thy labors of love. 
Again to their arms will thy Father restore thee; 

'You '11 all meet again in His mansion above. 



Lines on the Death of 



ss ^5usan Chuffs, of Weymoiftr). 



Has thy loved brother signaled thee, 
That you from us have gone ? 

Or this world pleasant ceased to be 
When being left alone ? 

Alone ! No utterance strikes the ear 

So like a wailing moan ; 
No sound so desolate and drear 

As that sad word, Alone ! 

When all that we have loved from birth 
To realms above have gone, 

Oh ! who would wish to stay on earth, 
Lamenting all alone ? 



GILMAN COLLAMORE. 149 

Father and mother you will see 

In their bright home above ; 
Sister and brother wait for thee 

In the blest realm of love. 

Farewell, my friend ; I 've known thee long: 

Benevolent of mind, 
From thee none ever suffered wrong ; 

None knew thee less than kind. 

March 7, 1877. 



$i 



man vjollamore, 



,C|. 



(Tribute of Gratitude.) 

O thou who befriended the poor and forsaken, 

And saved the unhappy from sorrow and care, 
Accept the warm thanks of the sufferer thou 'st taken 

From poverty's cavern, the den of despair. 
When, hopeless and wretched, a prisoner you found me. 

Attacked by foes and unsheltered by friends, 
Your arm, like the girdle of Charity, bound me, — 

Still succors, supports me, and warmly defends. 
Oh ! health to thine heart ; Heaven's blessings attend thee, 

Almoner of God in this region of woe : 
May He who hast sent thee still save and befriend thee, 

Till forth to His mansion triumphant you go. 
And when the strict porter of heaven shall question, 
"Who art thou?" thine eloquent soul shall declare, 
" I am he who has rescued the poor from destruction, 

And saved the unhappy from grief and despair." 



150 PERSONAL. 



Lines on the Death of 



iss ifeancy I5radley. 



Pale are those lips, and cold in death, 

That once were ruby red : 
Once perfumed with her honey breath, 

That breath, alas ! has fled. 

No more those once expressive eyes 

Shall glad her lover's heart: 
Vain were his prayers, his tears, and sighs 

To avert the fatal dart. 

'T was Heaven's eternal, fixed decree, 
" The soul that sins shall die ; " 
But sure that law affects not thee — 
Thy life was purity ; 

But, for our first great parents' crime, 

This evil doomed to bear, 
Now transferred to a happier clime, 

Thy Maker's love to share. 

Adieu, sweet maid ! thy virgin tomb 

Is bathed with mourners' tears ; 
And strewed with flowers of sweet perfume 
An emblem of thine early bloom, 
Thy few, but blameless years. 



A TRIBUTE TO A SOLDIER. 151 



MDute to a @3oldien. 



Henry L., eldest son of F. M. Adlington, of Weymouth, a Corporal in Com- 
pany G, Tenth New Hampshire Volunteers, after fighting in many battles, was 
taken prisoner and sent to Richmond, where he was offered good pay and rations 
if he would work at his trade for the rebels. His answer was, " I will die first." 
He was sent to Salisbury, North Carolina, where he is reported by A. D. 
Richardson to have died, on the 28th day of November, 1864, one month from 
the time of his capture. 

Again the mournful tidings come — 

Another son a victim dies ; 
I seem to hear the muffled drum 

Borne on the winds from Southern skies. 

Had he have fall'n by manly foe, 

I would have borne the heavy stroke, 

Nor murmured, though the crushing blow 
That stilled his heart my own had broke ; 

But starved to death in Southern den, 

Where murdered thousands swell the proof 

That Slavery nurtures things called men, 
Whose footprints show the Demon's hoof — 

Are these the men for whom we plead, 
The men for whom we kindly care — 

Men who with husks their victims feed, 
And starve by thousands in their lair ? 

And shall they, while their hands are red 
With blood of fathers, brothers, sons, 

By us be kindly clothed and fed, 

While unavenged our own blood runs ? 



152 PERSONAL. 

No ! by the first of Nature's laws 
Let the destroyer be destroyed : 

We have a just and righteous cause — 
Then let our means be all employed 

To punish, with determined zeal, 
The soulless, base, barbarian crew : 

This, only this can make them feel — 
This only give such foes their due. 

June 17, 1865. 



:pr)en <tp. Odlinaton. 



A member of Company H, Thirty-fifth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers ; 
died at Miamiville, near Cincinnati, Ohio, Sept. 6th, 1866, of cholera — 
superinduced, no doubt, by the hardships endured when sent to the aid of 
Gen. Grant at Vicksburg. When Company H, of the Thirty-fifth Regi- 
ment, was forming in Weymouth, he was the first to volunteer in the ranks. 

There is a tie that binds us yet, 

That death cannot destroy — 
A father's heart will not forget 

His own loved, faithful boy. 

Dear Stephen, I remember well 

When came the 'larum call : 
You foremost sprang the ranks to swell 

Within that crowded hall ; 



WALTER SCOTT ADLINGTON. 153 

And, faithful in our country's cause, 
■ The soldier's perils dared, 
Confronting death to guard our laws, 
And every danger shared. 

Although from battles safe returned, 

Yet, toil and trial worn, 
The martyr's crown was fairly earned, 

And should thy grave adorn. 



Walter @3cott oldlinqt 



on. 



To my son, Walter Scott Adlington, who died and was buried near Budd's 
Ferry, on the Potomac, Dec. 7, 1861. 

They tell me thou art dead, my son, 

And buried in a distant land ; 
But if thy life on earth were done, 

How could'st thou here before me stand ? 

By night or day to me the same, 
I see thee still, where'er I move : 

Thou seem'st to call me by my name, 
Awakening all a father's love. 

Is it thy spirit hov'ring near, 

Not yet ascended to the skies ? 
And hast thou come my heart to cheer, 

And with thy presence glad mine eyes ? 



154 PERSONAL. 

Thine image, graven on my brain, 
Nor time nor distance can destroy : 

Death had no power to break the chain 
That binds us still, my darling boy. 

There is a world — so prophets tell — 
Enshrined with glittering gems on high, 

Where kindred souls may safely dwell, 
And tears be wiped from every eye. 

There will I hope my son to see, 
With num'rous friends united there, 

From danger, sin, and sorrow free, 
Rejoicing in our Father's care. 

March 18, 1862. 



At the Brigade Hospital, Camp Hooker, Chickamixon, near Budd's Ferry, 
Maryland, on December 7th, of typhoid fever, Walter S. Adlington, youngest 
son of F. M. Adlington, of Weymouth, Mass., and a member of Company F 
Massachusetts Eleventh. 

The following extracts are from a letter from Col. Wm. Blaisdell to F. M. 
Adlington : — 

" I can conscientiously bear testimony to uniform good conduct and sol- 
dierly propriety on the part of your son * * * * 

"Not on the battle-field he died, but still no less a sacrifice to duty. His 
young life is not without its lesson, and we feel here the cause which numbers 
amongst its defenders such bright spirits as Walter Scott Adlington must be 
blessed in its results — insuring liberty to mankind and death to human 
slavery." 

His country called ; his brave young heart 
Responded, promptly, firmly, " Here ! " 

Though hard from loving friends to part, 
He dashed aside the starting tear. 



WALTER SCOTT ADLINGTON. 155 

A mother's kiss — a father's prayer — 
To brothers, sisters, friends — adieu ! 

The stripling laid his bosom bare, 
In Freedom's cause to dare and do. 

His country's call must be obeyed, 
And, numbered with a gallant band 

With Freedom's holy flag displayed, 
He sprang to guard his native land. 

And forward, on, as speeds the gale, 
To Bull Run's bloody field of woe, 

Where balls and shells poured down like hail, 
The brave young soldier fought the foe. 

Repulsed, reluctant to retreat, 

Yet still to duty ever true, 
He dragged along his wearied feet, 

Resolved again to dare and do. 

But death came near his quiet camp ; 

His comrades tried in vain to save. 
His eyes are closed, his brow is damp ; 

They 've laid him in the soldier's grave. 

And can I write thine epitaph, 

My own, my dear, loved, faithful boy ; 

My aid, my sentinel, my staff, 

My hope and triumph, and my joy. 

My darling boy, and must you lie 

Where traitors' feet may plough the sod ? 

Be still, my heart ; beyond the sky 
Thy loved one 's with his Father, God. 
Jan. 1 8, 1862. 



156 PERSONAL. 



>r)e Y oung Xolunt 



eer. 



(Air — The Wounded Huzzar.) 

* The following lines are a versification of a portion of several letters written by 
the comrades of Walter Scott Adlington,t a member of Company F, 
Eleventh Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers, who died at Camp Hooker, 
Chickamixon, near Budd's Ferry, Md., December 7, 1861. 

Far, far from his home, near Potomac's famed river, 
Young Adlington slumbers, the friend we held dear ; 

His soul has gone forth to the ark of the Giver : 
He cares for our comrade, the young volunteer. 

No kindred were near, yet kind friends were around him, 
Who over his relics restrained not the tear. 

Where, honored, we 've laid him the angels have found him ; 
They watch o'er the grave of the young volunteer. 

So faithful in duty, so kind and engaging, 

In friendship so gen'rous, so warm, and sincere, 

So firm when around him the battle was raging, 
Was Walter, our comrade, the young volunteer. 

Farewell to our friend ; though so early departed, 
His mem'ry shall live in our hearts ever near. 

Farewell to thee, Walter, the brave and true-hearted — 
Farewell to our comrade, the young volunteer ! 



* First battle of Bull Run. 

t He was born in Braintree, Norfolk County, Mass., January 31, 1842. 
Youngest son of Francis M. and Abigail W. Adlington, then residents of 
Weymouth, Mass. 



TO THE MEMORY OF THE BRAVE. 157 



trje 'HLemory of trje 15 



rave. 



Low stoops the warrior's head ; his crest 
Has sunk upon the earth's cold breast : 
His lilied plume is crimsoned o'er ; 
His martial garb is drenched in gore. 

His soul is fleeting fast away, 

To quit its ruined house of clay ; 

His burnished arms, that blazed so bright, 

And glittered in the solar light, 

Are bathed in blood ; that hand is cold 
That braved the boldest of the bold. 
In Freedom's cause the martyr dies, 
And glory seals the warrior's eyes. 

He fell amid the unconquered brave ; 
He would not live to live a slave. 
His gallant heart disdained to yield ; 
He died upon the battle-field. 

Plant o'er his grave the laurel wreath ; 
He earned it with his latest breath. 
"Victory or death ! " was all he said, 
Then fell amid the glorious dead. 



158 



PERSONAL. 



His banner o'er his head shall lie 
Who for his country dared to die ; 
And no unhallowed foot shall tread 
The sod that hides his honored head. 




'de for \\)Q Pourtl} of uly, 1818. 



Let Europe's trampled millions to tyrants bow the knee ; 
We scorn the patient bondman who dares not to be free. 
All hail to Independence ! bright morn of freedom, hail ! 
Where'er thy starry banner floats oppression's shackles fail. 
While o'er Columbia's ransomed land the flag of freemen 

waves, 
Its motto's "Death or liberty! — our birthrights or our 

graves." 

All hail to thee, my country ! where Freedom's temples 

rise, 
Where Justice lifts her equal scales, and merit wins the 

prize ; 
All hail to thee, our Chieftain, who bears Columbia's sword, 
And points our soldiers when to charge, our sailors when 

to board. 
While o'er Columbia's ransomed land the flag of freemen 

waves, 
Its motto 's " Death or liberty ! — our birthrights or our 

graves." 

When Britain's vengeful thunders sent death in every 

sound, 
When, in the desp'rate battle-strife, our fathers bled around, 



164 PATRIOTIC. 



Your Chieftain then, Columbia, on Trenton's bloody field, 
Firm in the ranks of freemen fought ; though wounded, 

scorned to yield. 
While o'er our then unransomed land scarce did this banner 

wave, 
He braved the roaring cannon's mouth for freedom or a 

grave. 

Who bared his manly bosom to guard your rights that day, 
Will ne'er desert his country's cause, or give her rights 

away. 
Then wave the starry banner 'round, and fill the goblet 

high, 
And let the rattling cannon's sound proclaim it through 

the sky : 
While o'er Columbia's ransomed land the flag of freemen 

waves, 
Its motto's "Death or liberty! — our birthrights or our 

graves." 

We toast the land of freedom, its Chieftain and its laws, 
Our vet'ran fathers whose remain, who fought in Freedom's 

cause ; 
We toast their sons, whose gallant deeds to gazing nations 

show 
They'll shrink not where their fathers fought, nor stoop 

to Freedom's foe. 
While o'er Columbia's ransomed land the flag of Freedom 

waves, 
Its motto still is "Liberty! — our birthrights or our graves.'' 



ANNIVERSARY ODE. 165 



nniversarv \Jde 



A, 



7 

Of the Washington Society, Boston, July 4, 1819. 



(Tune — Wreaths for the Chieftain.) 

Sons of the heroes who nobly contended 

For freedom, the richest of blessings on earth, 
Cherish in mem'ry from whence you descended, 
And honor the soil that has given you birth. 

Hark ! where your thunders hurled, 

Tell to a list'ning world 
Liberty dwells on America's shore. 

Look ! where your banners wave, 

Where Neptune's waters lave, 
Float the striped buntings, the proud eagles soar. 

Fill to the brim ! " Independence " is toasted — 
" Sons of the patriots of '75." 
Hail to the day ! it shall yearly be boasted ; 
Till mem'ry expires its honors shall thrive. 
Hark to the merry bells ! 
List, where the echo tells 
Liberty triumphs and Tyranny dies. 
Hark ! where the trumpet's sound 
Rings through creation's bound, 
Washington's spirit descends from the skies. 

Father of Freedom ! thy legacy given 

Guides us in peace and supports us in war. 

Soul of the Great ! from thy mansion in heaven 
Visit thy children in Liberty's car. 



166 PATRIOTIC. 



Hark ! through the op'ning cloud 
Hear the voice thund'ring loud, 
"Sons, do your duty! your country protect!" 
'Tis Heaven's great decree 
Freedom shall dwell with thee 
While you your forefathers' virtues respect. 

Now to our Chieftain, America's glory, 

Friend of our country, our boast and our pride, 
The song of the minstrel, the bright page of hist'ry, 

Shall tell you have lived, and, for us, would have 
died. 

Loud let the trump of Fame 

Send forth his honored name, 
He who ne'er stooped to Columbia's foe. 

Green may his laurels spring 

While heaven's arches ring 
Wi' " God save our Chieftain, the patriot Monroe ! '' 



Ye 0ld 



en va^ime. 



The sun is rising o'er the sea, 
The threat'ning clouds give way ; 

The drummers beat — the reveille 
Salutes the rising day. 

The gallant seamen man the shrouds, 
And climb the loftiest spar ; 



YE OLDEN TIME. 167 



With three times three they shake the clouds 
" Huzza ! Huzza ! Huzza ! " 

The merry bells strike up a glee, 
The thund'ring cannons roar : 
"Our fathers fought — and we are free!" 
Re-echoes round the shore. 

The notes of joy from every side 

The jubilee proclaim ; 
The beggar cocks his hat with pride, 

And swells the notes of fame. 

The aged vet'ran, midst the crowd, 

Leans on his hick'ry cane : 
Though low with age his body 's bowed, 

To-day he 's young again. 

The list'ning youth attentive stand 

To hear the warrior tell 
How oft beneath his 'venging hand 

The foes of freedom fell. 

He points to where his colors wave ; 
Delight illumes his eye : 
" My sons, be like your fathers, brave ; 
" Like them be free, or die ! " 

His counsel, like electric fire, 

Their youthful hearts inflame : 
They press around the patriot sire, 

With blessings on his name. 



168 PATRIOTIC. 



No sound is heard of discontent, 

For all alike are free ; 
All give their patriot feelings vent 

This day of jubilee. 

The miser sweats his darling hoard 

To bid the trav'ler stay, 
And copious Plenty crowns her board 

On this rejoicing day. 

No voice of anguish meets the ear, 

To bid our sorrow flow ; 
No suff 'ring child of want is here 

To breathe the plaint of woe. 

Oh ! never may this happy land 

To hateful tyrants yield ; 
May Heaven's own thunders guard thy strand, 

Thy free-born children shield. 



July 4, 1 8 14. 



'de for trje Waspinaton ^Dociefy, Boston. 

(Of which the author was a member.) 



(Tune — Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled.) 

Hark ! again her clarion rings ! 
Lo ! she comes on eagle's wings — 
She who wealth and honor brings, 
Heaven-born Liberty. 



ODE FOR THE WASHINGTON SOCIETY. 169 

Midst your pines a home she sought ; 
In her cause your fathers fought ; 
With their blood her safety bought : 
Hail her jubilee ! 

Vict'ry bears her starry crown ; 
Despots, trembling, dread her frown : 
See ! she beats Oppression down ; 
Slav'ry hides her head. 

Far as earth's remotest bound 
Be her sacred temples found ; 
With her own loud thunders sound 
Rock her cradle-bed. 

Hark ! the South her voice obeys ; 
New-born sons her standard raise ; 
May they win her smiles and praise, 
Conquer, and be free ! 

Where's the Spanish juggler's wand ? 
Wrested from his palsied hand : 
Valor gave the great command, 
" On, to liberty ! " 

'Neath her stripes the lion cowers ; 
'Neath her stars the crescent lowers : 
Hail the day that made her ours — 
Hail her jubilee ! 

Grateful sons of generous sires, 
Feed your patriotic fires ; 
Till life's latest spark expires 
Cherish liberty. 

Written July 4, 1820. 



170 ■ PATRIOTIC. 



Rountb of July, 1842. 

Shout, children, shout ! the day's your own, 

Your gallant grandsires' legacy : 
For you midst blood and fire they won 
This jubilee of Liberty. 

Wake every echo with your glee ; 
The patriots' fire survives in thee. 

Huzza ! behold your colors fly ! 

From ev'ry tow'ring mast they wave. 
Beneath that flag who would not die, 
Ere he would "live a coward slave" ? 

Shout, young ones, shout ! strain every voice ; 
'Tis Independent Day — rejoice! 

Hark to the guns and sounding bells ! 
Their brazen mouths to all proclaim 
Here Liberty, your birthright, dwells ; 
Do honor to her cherished name. 

Shout, children, shout! the day's your own, 
God's and your fathers' priceless boon. 



3nd 



ependent 



penaeni L^ay. 



"'Tis Independent Day, mamma ; 
Why don't they ring the bell ? 
Why don't they shout and cry, Huzza 
Dear mother, can you tell ? 



INDEPENDENT DAY. 171 



I asked my pa' to tell me why 

The bells had not been rung ; 
With angry look he passed me by, 

And bade me hold my tongue, 
And muttered, 'twixt his grinding teeth, 

' I blush to tell the chap, 
The head for which we 'twined the wreath, 

Deserves a motley's cap.' 

" Last year they hanged the colors out, 

And rang the bells like hum, 
And all the people marched about, 

And had a fife and drum ; 
And now they all look cross, or sick — 

I wish somebody 'd tell — 
Why is it, mother — tell me quick, 

Why don't they ring the bell?" 
"Alas ! my son, we have no cause 

For much rejoicing now ; 
Our traitors have made wicked laws, 

To which we all must bow. 

" Old Massachusetts feels the stroke, 

Her hills and valleys groan ; 
She cannot bear a Tyrant's yoke, 

And bow submissive down. 
A voice is heard along her strand, 

And echoed o'er the' waves, — 
' Cursed be the fiend who doomed this land 

A trap for hunted slaves ! ' 
Yet Fillmore wolves and Douglass hounds 

Have made it slavery's hunting grounds. 



172 PATRIOTIC. 



"Why weeps my boy — why don't he play?" 
" Oh, mother, need I tell ? 
They've murdered Independent Day! 
We ought to toll the bell." 



July 4, 1854. 



'de Written for independent Oay, lo/b. 



(Tune — Auld Lang Syne.) 

Two hundred fifty years ago 
The savage walked this strand, 

Armed with his arrow and his bow, 
The monarch of this land. 

And here his light canoe he plied 

Across the rolling waves : 
Monatiquot, thy waters glide 

'Round the poor Indians' graves. 

Our fathers came ; the savage fled 

To forests far away : 
On either side brave blood was shed, 

In desperate affray. 

Where'er the white man plants his foot 

The savage must retire, 
And make his dwelling with the brute, 

Around his camping-fire. 



INDEPENDENT DAY. 173 

Our fathers, freed from barbarous foes, 
The church and schoolhouse raise ; 

And up to heaven, re-echoing, rose 
Thanksgiving songs of praise. 

The fire of freedom brightly glowed 

In every patriot breast ; 
And, like the electric current, flowed 

North, east, and south, and west, 

When, O Britiannia, — shame to thee! — 

Who Freedom's charter gave, 
Assumed to subjugate the free, 

And her own blood t' enslave. 

But Hampden's blood was in their veins, 

Who would not bow the knee : 
Our fathers spurned the tyrant's chains ; 

They fought — and we are free. 

We '11 not forget old Bunker Hill, 

Concord, or Lexington, 
But keep them fresh in mem'ry still, 

Till Time his course has run. 

Our cheers for Independence here 

On lightning tongues will bound 
Wide o'er the waves, our sons to cheer, 

The spacious world around. 

" Hail, Independence, evermore," 

Our dying patriots cry, 
" Where floats our flag from shore to shore, 

Forever and for aye ! " 



174 PATRIOTIC. 



Id Bn 



aland. 



Old England, the land whence our forefathers came, — 
Though sometimes we wrangle, as relatives will, — 

In blood and in language forever the same, 

Deep, deep in our hearts there is love for thee still. 

Your poets and patriots, your good men and wise, 
We honor, and partially claim for our own ; 

Your statesmen and heroes we know how to prize, 
Rememb'ring with pride that our fathers were one. 

From the land of the free, by our grandsires crowned, 
We greet thee, our clime, as the noble and brave, 

The nation for Freedom's great charter renowned, 
Which suffers no tyrant, and owns not a slave. 

Though ocean divides us may naught else divide ; 

In friendship and peace may we ever remain, 
By kinship, by justice, and honor allied, 

Leagued ever the rights of mankind to sustain. 



>tr)er and Oauapter. 



All hail our Pilgrim fathers' strand, 
The dearest spot on earth ! 

And hail Britannia — hail the land 
That gave our fathers birth ! 



OUR FATHERS' LEGACY. 175 



Britain, the fount from whence we rose, 
Her blood our veins that fill, 

Although our fathers met as foes, 
Their sons are brethren still. 

Then weave her banner with our own, 

And to the mast-head nail ; 
Freedom shall wear her double crown — 

Mother and daughter, hail! 



Pothers' Q 



up I amers LAeqac^ 



Our fathers crossed the Atlantic waves, 
And sought the rock where ocean laves, 
For freedom or for freemen's graves — 

The rock of the Old Colony. 
The eagle from her pine-top nest, 
Whose shadow kissed the ocean's breast, 
Exulting, eyed each venturous guest, 

And showed them to her progeny. 

Fair Liberty beheld the sign : 
" My bird," she cried, "can sure divine — 
These eagle-hearted souls are mine, 

The daring sons of Liberty. 
Behold this Pilgrim band forlorn, 
The mitre-cursed, the tyrant-scorned, 
With sickness, toil, and famine worn, 

These children of a Deity." 



176 PATRIOTIC. 



Along the shore the wild winds howled ; 
Around their camp the savage prowled ; 
The gloomy heavens above them scowled — 

A starless, death-pall canopy. 
The Pilgrim breathed no murmuring sigh ; 
In faith he fixed his hopes on high, 
And vowed to conquer or to die, 

For freedom and posterity. 

And soon the Pilgrims' souls were tried ; 
With famine many a stout heart died ; 
Yet e'en in death they dared confide 

In God, who giveth victory. 
Before that brave, surviving band 
The conquered savage fled the land ; 
Returning sunbeams warmed the sand, 

And hope became reality. 

Before their strokes the forest reeled ; 
The secret earth her stores revealed ; 
And Freedom crowned that barren field, 

The altar of America. 
Descendants of the pious few 
Who suffered, toiled, and bled for you, 
Think what you owe that gallant crew, 

Those pioneers of Liberty. 

The sons have ne'er their sires disgraced ; 
Through them the Pilgrim's blood is traced ; 
Their fathers' foe they boldly faced, 
And Heaven awarded victory. 



OUR FATHERS. Ill 



They beat the British lion down, 
And tore. the jewels from his crown. 
Hail, Independence ! 't is our own, 
Our gallant fathers' legacy. 

To Independence strike the lyre ; 
We '11 hail it till the world 's on fire, 
And bless the son and bless the sire 

Who honors Freedom's jubilee. 
God bless their hearts and move their hands 
Who, in our own, or foreign lands 
Are breaking down Oppression's bands, 

The accursed bands of slavery. 



May 7, 1847. 



Katl}( 



'un I alhers 



(Tune — The White Cockade.) 

Our fathers were a noble race 

Of honest working-men, d'ye see; 

And here they came to find a place, 

A dwelling for the brave and free. 

They crossed the sea for Freedom's soil, 
And made it thrive by freemen's toil ; 
The freeman's home they bled to save, 
And cursed be he who would enslave ! 



178 PATRIOTIC. 



Our fathers fought against the crown — 
They would not bear a tyrant's yoke ; 
And when in death they laid them down 
A spirit from their ashes spoke : 

We crossed the sea for Freedom's soil, 
And made it thrive by freemen's toil ; 
The freeman's home we bled to save, 
And cursed be he who would enslave ! 

Our fathers, for their legacy, 

Have left to us the guardian care 
Of this, the dwelling of the free, 

For which they laid their bosoms bare. 
They crossed the sea for Freedom's soil, 
And made it thrive by freemen's toil ; 
The freeman's home they bled to save, 
And cursed be he who would enslave ! 

Dishonor to the traitor's grave 

Who clips the wings of Liberty. 
His, Arnold's fame who would enslave 
The land our fathers died to free. 

They crossed the sea for Freedom's soil, 
And made it thrive by freemen's toil ; 
The freeman's home they bled to save, 
And cursed be he who would enslave ! 



FLAG SONG OF TRIUMPH. 179 



rHacj ^)ona of C^niumpr). 



(Tune — The Legacy.) 

Aloft Columbia's flag is flying ; 

Around it rally brave boys in blue ; 
And should a foe, that flag defying, 

Approach, your country will trust to you. 

Well it is known our patriots never 

Dishonor the flag of the brave and free ; 

Borne aloft, it shall float forever 
Triumphant over the land and sea. 

The stripes and stars are the freeman's banner ; 

It waves a blessing to all mankind. 
That flag the nations delight to honor, 

And welcome over the world 't will find. 

On the hilltop, and down in the valley, 
And over the lakes, and over the sea, 

The boys in blue to the bugle rally 
Around the flag of the brave and free. 

The wronged from every clime and nation 
Are swarming over the stormy brine, 

And joyful seal to the obligation 

To guard and honor our holy shrine. 



180 PATRIOTIC. 



Wave it aloft, our country's banner ; 

Salute it with cheers from shore to shore: 
The sign of justice, of faith, and honor 

Shall wave in triumph till time 's no more. 



October, \\ 



II Hai 



"o our Uountf 



f 



All hail the land that Freedom cheers, 

The land of equal rights, 
Where Justice rules, and Plenty rears 

Her garden of delights. 

The land where noble Warren bled, 

The land of Washington ; 
Where lie the ever-honored dead 

Who Freedom's battle won. 

All hail the land that would not bend 
Beneath Oppression's stroke, 

But bravely dared their rights defend, 
And spurned the tyrants' yoke. 

Brave, ransomed land ! forever more 

To bear the starry sign 
That ever more, from shore to shore, 

Sweet Liberty is thine. 



MY NATIVE LAND. 181 



In vain would tyrants fix their throne 
Where dwell the just and brave ; 

One blast upon their bugle blown 
Shall rouse a world to save. 

Freedom has fixed her altar here, 
And, 'neath its mighty dome, 

With shouts of joy and songs of cheer, 
Her ransomed children come. 

Hosanna to the Mighty One 
Who gave the great decree, 
" Columbia, land of Washington, 
Forever more be free " — 

The land where tyrants vainly strove 

To rule with iron rod, 
Forgetful that there dwells above 

A just and righteous God. 



five Qand. 



My native land, forever dear ! 

Though mine has been the poor man's lot 
I love thee still, with heart sincere, 

Nor are thy benefits forgot. 



182 PATRIOTIC. 



I share the glory of thy name, 
The shelter of thy mighty shield ; 

And I with thee must bear the shame 
If thou to vice or folly yield. 

I feel that I am one of those 
Who form a nation great and strong ; 

Engaged to battle with her foes, 

To guard the right and check the wrong. 

A grain amongst her sands to roll, 
A drop amidst her oceans whirled, 

I form a part of that great whole — 
A refuge for the suff'ring world. 

Co-heir of all her praise or blame, 
Her manly sons who cross the sea 

And win a justly honored name, 
Confer a benefit on me. 

If there may be excuse for pride, 

I am a patriot soldier's son, 
And, by my country's birth, allied 

To thee, immortal Washington. 

My native land, forever dear, 
While o'er my head your colors wave, 

I scarce can realize that here 
There breathes a tyrant or a slave. 

Ah ! would those wrongs our hearts deplore 
Were blotted out, no more to be ; 



MY COUNTRY. 183 



That all who tread Columbia's shore 
Enjoyed the blessings of the free. 

Then would her stars a light disclose 
To gazing nations 'round the world ; 

Her stripes a terror to her foes 

Where'er her sons their flag unfurled. 



>untr 



My country ! from my early youth 
I have been taught to love thy name, 

And I have learned thy sterling worth, 
And gloried in thy noble fame. 

Their names who on the battle-ground 
Or in the Senate served thee true, 

By mem'ry to my heart-strings bound, 
Preserve the record ever new. 

And now, when at thy trumpet's call 
For sons to serve thee in the field, 

While Northern traitors from thee fall, 

Who should have been thy stay and shield, 

Though age and feebleness be mine, 
At home I scarce can patient bide ; 

My little strength I would were thine, 
To aid thee in the battle-tide — 



184 PATRIOTIC. 



To follow where thy banner leads, 

To roll the car of vict'ry on, 
And help to do as noble deeds 

As others in thy cause have done, 

The willing heart indeed would go, 

The quickened, kindling blood will warm ; 

But vainly 'gainst the vaunting foe 
Unconscious lifts the feeble arm. 

My sons — may Heaven my children save — 
Are with thee battling 'gainst the foe : 

One lies within a soldier's grave, 
And fate may lay my others low ; 

But rather than to traitors yield 

This glorious land of liberty, 
My all that's mine will bide the field, 

And with our country live or die. 

A Nation's tears bedew the grave 

Of those who scorned her rights to sell — 

Who, struggling manfully to save, 
Like Warren and like Lyon, fell. 

A glorious future must await 

Those who survive this fearful strife — 
Men who restored the periled State 

From threatened death to healthy life. 

Their country's gratitude and praise, 
Their own self-consciousness of right, 



MY COUNTRY. 185 



A Nation's blessing all their days, 
The patriot soldier shall requite. 

God pardon those misguided ones 
Who basely choose a traitor's fame : 

Their blood through ages, while it runs, 
Will bear the Arnold mark of shame. 

Time will not make the record fade, 
Nor wash away the foul disgrace : 

Scorn's finger ever will upbraid 
The guilty traitor's hapless race. 

Oh ! who their offspring would consign 
To such a hope-destroying state — 

To have no country, know no shrine — 
Doomed lepers, marked for scorn or hate ! 

Are you a parent ? Ponder well ; 

Nor let your children curse the day 
Their father, leagued with traitors, fell, 

To throw their birthrights all away, 

And left them orphans on that shore 
That mothers all of patriot race — 

To them a parent now no more, 
Memorials of her sad disgrace ! 



Aug. 22, li 



186 FA TRIO TIC. 



up oinion. 



I love our Union, love each State, 

The new as well as old ; 
Nor would I see them separate 

For all their weight in gold. 

But rather than I would resign 

The birthright of the free, 
Had I the power, I 'd draw a line 

Of fire, from sea to sea, 

And say to those who slav'ry love, 
" Now try your servile plan ; 
Let those who liberty approve 
Enjoy the rights of man ! " 

And he who treads your sacred shore, 

That moment shall be free ; 
The accursed slave-hunter no more 

Shall outrage Liberty. 

But would a line of fire suffice 

The bondmen to restrain ? 
No ; in their strength the slaves would rise, 

And pass the fiery chain. 

Nor would the angry despot dare 

Pursue his flying slave : 
Their pass to him would prove a snare — 

The passport to his grave. 



MY COUNTRY. 187 



Away, then, with that tricksy whine 

The Union band to save, 
When Freedom says, "The stars are mine ; 

The stripes no more shall wave ! " 

Full well do all slaveholders know 
They lean on Freedom's shield, 

And if she meets them as a foe, 
That slav'ry's fate is sealed. 

Whene'er she rends her Union flag, 

And casts the stripes away, 
Alas ! for all the Southrons' brag 

They'll deeply rue the day. 



ntry, Wr 



un vjouniry, vvronq or 



The strain the patriot poet sung, 
That sounded 'round his fairy lakes, 

And o'er the misty hilltops rung, 
On distant shores the echo wakes ; 

"With all thy faults I love thee still, 
Dear Scotia, oh ! my native land ! " 
For weal or woe, for good or ill, 

He gave his heart and gave his hand. 



PATRIOTIC. 



He loved her still, despite her crimes, 
And with a childlike love caressed ; 

'Though sorrow mantled o'er his rhymes, 
He would not foul the parent nest. 

He could not tear his heart away, 

And curse the land that gave him birth, 

Or act the traitor, and betray 

The patriot's dearest spot on earth. 

This is that true and constant love 
By every honest patriot shown — 

The spirit that would faithful prove 

Though all the world beside should frown. 

But every nation sins at times : 

What then, should patriot hearts oppose ? 
Rebuke and lash them for their crimes, 

Not give the scourge to heartless foes. 

Those words, " Our country, wrong or right," 

Re-echoed now from every hill, 
If viewed but in a candid light, 

They but express, " I love thee still." 

I love thee still, my native land, 

With all thy faults, though great they be ; 
Nor would I, with thy foemen, band 

To bow thy neck or bend thy knee. 

'T is nature's universal truth, 

We love our own, how'er defiled. 



AMERICA. 189 

Would'st prove it ? Seize that guilty youth ; 
Strike down that mother's erring child. 

Would not the Amazonian light 

Flash from the mildest mother's eye ? 

Would she not guard him, wrong or right, 
And every means to save him try ? 

The patriot, in as dear a light, 

Beholds his country, good or ill. 
She is his mother, wrong or right ; 

He loves, supports, and guards her still. 



April 10, 1847. 



menca. 



America's a wretched place, 
Some folks pretend to say ; 

If so, I wonder why such swarms 
Are flocking on this way ! 

I wonder why they didn 't think 
'T was best at home to stay. 

I 'm thinking that, with all its faults,- 
And it has some, I know, — 

A better place to find a friend, 
Or shelter from a foe, 

With all their ingenuity 
They can't begin to show. 



190 PATRIOTIC. 



A better place to earn their bread, 

If but a mind to try, 
To educate their little ones, 

And lay the shiners by, 
They have n't found, and can't begin 

To find beneath the sky. 

Yet some will take the liberty 

Their freedom to misuse — 
The hand that feeds and shelters them 

To heartlessly abuse ; 
For which they in most foreign lands 

Perchance their ears might lose. 

I love to see the foreigner 

Seek comfort on our shore ; 
To enter, as they freely do, 

Our ever-open door : 
I love to know my native land's 

A shelter for the poor ; 

But base ingratitude I hate, 

And scorn the viper knave 
Who strikes his venom to the hand 

Outstretched from harm to save : 
The ungrateful guest on Freedom's shore 

Is still to vice a slave. 



JOHN BULL AND UNCLE SAM. 191 



)r}n Dull and Qn 



onn kjuii ana dncie ^am, 



(Written to please my little boys.) 

John Bull with Uncle Sam fell out, 
And stumped him out to fight, sir. 

Says John, "We '11 have a lusty bout, 
To set the matter right, sir !" 

Cho. — Take it, Johnny, fair or rough — 

You 've long deserved a beating ; 
And though you seldom cry enough, 
We know it by your bleating. 

Now off went coats and down went stakes, 
And both began to square, sir ; 

And each his best advantage takes 
To pull the other's hair, sir. 

Now John was clumsy, fat, and big, 

So Uncle Sam got hold, sir, 
And dusted well his royal wig, 

When John began to scold, sir. 

He said he knew it was n't fair — 
Called Uncle Sam a clown, sir ; 

And said he did n't think he 'd dare 
To shake his daddy's crown, sir. 



192 PATRIOTIC. 



But Uncle Sam kept thumping still, 
And plumped him hip and thigh, sir ; 

'Till John, though much against his will, 
For quarter had to cry, sir. 

He begged he would some pity take, 
And offered, too, to treat, sir ; 

Resigned his honor and his stake, 
And owned that he was beat, sir. 

Now Uncle Sam, though loth to quit, 
At length gave up the fray, sir, 

And giving John a parting hit,* 
Exulting marched away, sir. 

Now, John, when next you want to box, 
Do n't box with Uncle Sam, sir ; 

For, faith, you'll find his sturdy knocks 
Are something more than sham, sir. 

Now here 's a health to Uncle Sam — 
Old Hickory, too, d' ye see, sir, 

Who tripped the heels of Packingham, 
And packed him off to sea, sir. 



*At New Orleans. 



IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICAN SEAMEN. 193 



'n trje iJmpre'ssment of Umencan @peamen. 



Columbia's tars, a gallant crew, 

And worthy of their country's care, 

With fearless hearts their course pursue 
Where tempests roar and lightnings glare. 

Their country's colors to display, 

And load her ports with wealth, they sail ; 
Intrepid plough the trackless way, 

And o'er the ocean storms prevail. 

But lo ! what can their hearts appall ? 

Why shrink they back with timid fear ? 
Hark ! hark ! they hear their messmates call, 
" A British cruiser 's bearing near! " 

Now to escape pursuit they strive, 
And force their laden bark along — 

With every sail the vessel drive, 

Their much-loved freedom to prolong. 

But all their efforts naught avail ; 

The light-winged pirate on them gains ; 
The whizzing balls their masts assail ; 

Their deck with crimson gore distains. 

The hapless crew in terror hide ; 

Their rapid course the pirates stay ; 
The hostile boats approach the side, 

To bear our free-born sons away. 



194 PATRIOTIC. 



The refuse of his native land, 

The minion of a tyrant vile, 
Drags forth the persecuted band, 

And marks his base employer's spoil. 

The wretched youth, with terror pale, 
Presents the pass his country gave ; 

But justice now can naught avail — 
They throw his passport to the wave. 

On board the floating dungeon borne, 
The lash the cruel tyrants ply ; 

From freedom, friends, and country, torn, 
With bloodhounds doomed to live and die. 

In vain he supplicates release ; , 

Cold avarice locks his galling chains ; 

And to the dastard cry of Peace, 
He owes his agonizing pains.* 

(Written in 1S11.) 



'ailor s I \iqnis, 



(Tune — Methodist Hymn.) 

Awake, arise, Columbia's sons ! 

Gird on your sword, and grasp your guns, 



* The author had a brother impressed and detained several years on board 
a British frigate. 



SAILOR'S RIGHTS. 195 



To shield your country fly ! 

To shield your country fly ! 
Those rights your fathers bought, maintain, 
Midst seas of blood and heaps of slain — 

Live free or nobly die ! 

Live free or nobly die ! 

Our cause is just — 'tis Freedom's cause ; 
For sailor's rights and nation's laws 

We light the torch of war, 

We light the torch of war. 
Our motto this, With honor, peace, 
Or war till wars on earth shall cease, 

Till time shall be no more, 

Till time shall be no more. 

Nailed to the mast our colors wave, 
To lower but o'er our nation's grave, 

On Freedom's funeral pyre, 

On Freedom's funeral pyre. 
The foe shall cease our sons to harm, 
Or ocean with our fleets shall swarm 

To wrap their coasts in fire, 

To wrap their coasts in fire. 

We swear to save our native land 
Or perish, like the Spartan band, 

Contending to be free, 

Contending to be free. 
Secure, our stripes and stars shall spread, 
Or, bathed in blood, the Britains dread, 

Triumphant ride the sea, 

Triumphant ride the sea. 



196 PATRIOTIC. 



Pat 



noTic @L)on< 



1812. 



(Tune — Auld Lang Syne.) 

The tyrant of the raging main 

Again your country braves, 
And o'er the ocean casts his chain 

To make your children slaves. 

Then rush to guard your native shores, 

Your rights upon the sea ; 
In thunder plead your righteous cause, 

And conquer, to be free. 

Around your country's standard throng ! 

To arms, ye patriots, fly ! 
Resolved your freedom to prolong, 

To conquer, or to die. 

Your sons in foreign dungeons bound 

Invoke your aid to save ; 
Then let your thundering cannon's sound 

Speak freedom to the slave. 

With patriot armies line your strand, 

Your country's foes defy ; 
Unite, and, like the Spartan band, 

Live free, or nobly die. 

Your hardy sons the ocean brave, 

In vengeance take the field ; 
Columbia yet shall rule the wave, 

And haughty Britain yield. 



CONGRATULATORY. 197 



tul ate 



>onqraiuiaron 



T 



(On the Visit of President Monroe to Boston.) 

Aloft Columbia's banner waves, 
And loud her thunders roar : 
That banner awes all foreign slaves, 
Those thunders guard our shore. 
Why floats our starry flag on high ? 
Why roll our thunders 'round the sky ? 

Our Chief, Columbia's Chief, is near — 
Columbia's friend, the patriot tried ; 
To every virtuous bosom dear — 

Our own, our much-loved country's pride. 
Lift up our starry flag on high, 
And roll our thunders 'round the sky ! 

Strike up, strike up the merry bells, 

Swell the high notes of festive glee, 
While Freedom's loudest clarion tells 
To listening worlds, Columbia's free ! 
Lift up our starry flag on high, 
And roll our thunders 'round the sky ! 

Behold our Chief, a nation's choice ; 

His worth e'en party rancour calms : 
His mandate is Columbia's voice, 

His guard, the western world of arms. 
Lift up our starry flag on high, 
And roll our thunders 'round the sky ! 



198 PATRIOTIC. 



New England, nurse of Liberty, 

That with thy blood that goddess fed — 
That shrunk not when her foes were nigh, 
But rushed to guard her cradle-bed — 
Lift up your starry flag on high, 
And roll your thunders 'round the sky ! 

Bostonia, bid thy trumpet sound, 

Thy gallant martial strength display ; 
Let the loud welcome, pealing 'round, 
Salute your Chieftain on his way. 
Lift up your starry flag on high, 
And roll your thunders 'round the sky ! 

He comes! he comes ! your Chief is here — 

Columbia's sword, Columbia's shield ; 
Give him the long, loud, heartfelt cheer 
Who with his blood your freedom sealed. 
Lift up your starry flag on high, 
And roll your thunders through the sky ! 



>onsul \ fceade, 

On his Release from a Spanish Dungeon. 



When our citizen Meade had a prisoner lain 
For two years and more in the dungeons of Spain, 
The patriot Monroe took the first chair of state, 
And resolved to have justice done, however late. 



CONSUL MEADE. 199 



He called to our Eagle ; she heard from afar, 
And came with her emblems of peace and of war. 

"Throw the olive aside," says Columbia's Chief; 

" The war dart will serve, for your message is brief. 
I 've heard o'er the ocean, the rivers, and plain, 
A son of Columbia in fetters complain. 
Go tell the proud Spaniard across the wide waves, 
The sons of Columbia will never be slaves. 
Go tell the proud monarch his prey to resign ; 
Columbia demands it, and vengeance is mine ! " 
Like lightning she flies o'er the loud-sounding main, 
And hears the poor captive in fetters complain. 
She seeks the proud monarch ; she shows the red dart : 
His knees shake with terror, and sunk is his heart. 
She tells him her message, oft told him in vain : 

"I come here for justice, proud monarch of Spain. 
Columbia demands that her sons shall be free, 
Or the blood of your subjects shall crimson the sea ! " 
He shrinks from the glance of her soul-piercing eye, 
And vainly attempts from her talons to fly. 
He bends with reluctance the long-stiffened knee : 
The fetters are broke, and the prisoner is free. 
Victoria, Columbia, no prison on earth 
Shall stay thy free sons from the land of their birth. 



200 PATRIOTIC. 



>on 



f 



Written for and sung at the Anniversary of the Worcester Light Infantry. 
(Tune — Scots wha hae.) 

When the British tyrant bore 
O'er our land the sovereign power, 
By their hopes our fathers swore 
Free to live or die. 

Every patriot arm was bared : 
When the union flag was reared, 
Every heart by freedom cheered 
Beat for liberty. 

Soon the trial-day came on, 
When each brave American 
Sought the camp of Washington, 
Pointing to their graves : 

Hungry on the field of toil, 
Barefoot on the frozen soil, 
Bravely suff'ring pain and spoil, 
Scorning to be slaves. 

Shall the sons disgrace their sires ? 
No, by the eternal fires ! 
He who Freedom's course inspires 
Bears the triple shield. 



THE CITIZEN SOLDIER. 201 

By the martyr Warren's shade, 
By our country's battle-blade, 
By the vow our fathers made, 
We will never yield ! 

Should we hear our country's call, 
'Though this flag should be our pall, 
We will rally, one and all, 
Where our fathers trod. 

Like them, on the battle-ground, 
When the 'larum trump shall sound, 
On the post of honor found, 
Trusting: in their God. 



• it 



izen 



Sung by Mr. Canterbury, at a dinner given by Gilman Collamore, Esq., to the 
independent company called the Boston Fusileers (of which he was for- 
merly a Lieutenant), on the occasion of presenting them with a new 
standard, painted by Curtis, on which were the arms of Massachusetts — 
an Indian with a bow and arrow. Present, Gen. Wells and other invited 
guests. 

(Tune — Wreaths to the Chieftain.) 

Guardians of Freedom, of Justice, and Virtue, 

Citizen soldiers of Liberty's soil, 
Victory's pledge a Columbian presents you ; 

Guard it from insult and shield it from spoil. 



202 PATRIOTIC. 



Should the shrill battle-cry 

Ring through your native sky, 
Then to this standard, undaunted, repair, 

Where every shot must tell : 

Let the foe mark it well ; 
Bid him behold it — behold and despair! 

Hail, Massachusetts ! America's favorite ; 

Long may the blessing remain on your head. 
Cursed be the wretch that would plunder thy birthright, 
And famished the knave who would sell it for bread. 
Strong be your warrior's bow — 
Ne'er may he miss your foe ; 
Sure winged his dart as the arrows of fate. 
Cheered be your patriot hearts, 
Cherished your liberal arts, 
Pillars and wreaths in the Temple of State. 

Liberty, long ere your brave fathers wooed her, 

Roamed a poor wanderer, oppressed by despair. 
Washington sought, and successful pursued her — 
On you he bestowed her ; protect her with care. 
Ne'er be her blooming charms 
Clasped in a traitor's arms ; 
Long may she bless our American shore. 
'Till she departs the world, 
Still be this flag unfurled ; 
When she expires may time be no more. 

Strong be the links in the chain of the Union ; 
Ne'er may we Washington's precepts forsake : 
ong may we live in this blessed communion, 
And scorned be the slave who the compact would break. 



THE OLD SOLDIER'S PETITION. 203 

Now to the Commonwealth — 

Now to our Chieftain's health ; 
Now to our newly crowned sister of Maine.* 

Here's to the stripes and stars ; 

Ne'er may our gallant tars 
Nail to the mast the striped bunting in vain. 



\)Q fc/ld ^oldier's I efition 

To the Congress of the United States. 



The soldier was young, he was ardent and strong, 

Encircled by all that endears, 
When the voice of his country, to shield her from 
wrong, 

Like a fire-cry rang on his ears. 

He left his fair wife with the babe on her knee, 

The altar and home of his sire ; 
H e heard but one voice — 't was his country's ; for thee, 

For thee to contend or expire. 



* First published Nov. 9, 1850, but written some years previous, I do not 
remember precisely — between 1820 and 1830, or soon after Maine became a 
State. F. M. A. 



204 PATRIOTIC. 



His country has triumphed ; the soldier returns, 
But battered and worn in the strife, 

To sit on the hearth where his small fire burns, 
Supported and nursed by his wife. 

And forty years after, when feeble and poor, 

He calls on his country for aid, 
Say, shall his petition be thrown on the floor? 

Shall thus the old soldier be paid ? 

July 8, 1854. 



•pe Soldiers and @5ailors of I o I A— I b. 



They are going — going — going 
To their last, long resting-place, 

Who patiently have waited 

For a thankless country's grace. 

Go now and build their monuments, 
And claim your kindred blood — 

You who, while they were sufF ring here, 
Unheeding by have stood. 

Go, ingrates ! shed above their graves 

Your hypocritic tears, 
And boast that you have honored them 

With plaudits and with cheers. 

When haughty Britain made her boast, 
" Britannia rules the waves," 



NEW ENGLAND WAR-CRY. 205 

Impressed your seamen, seized your ships, 
And sought to make you slaves, 

The men of eighteen hundred twelve, 

In many desp'rate rights, 
The noble principle maintained 

Of just and equal rights. 

Their prowess broke the tyrants' spell, 

And freed Columbia's shore : 
The pirate of the ocean wave 
, Can rule the seas no more. 

No more our gallant seamen fear 

The press-gang on the sea : 
The men of eighteen hundred twelve 

Have made the ocean free. 

March 9, 1867. 



ffcew Qnaland W 



"-cry. 



New England has sounded her war-cry again, 
And her sons to the call from hill, valley, and plain, 
With rifle, and sabre, and death-dealing balls, 
Like a tempest rush on where dear Liberty calls. 

The blood of the Pilgrims is mounting again ; 

To the front, like your fathers — their glory sustain. 



206 PATRIOTIC. 



To the front, brave New England; ring out your war- 
cry, 
"The true sons of the Pilgrims will conquer or die !" 

Woe, woe to the traitors who dare to contend 
With the phalanx New England to battle will send ; 
For ne'er have her sons on a battle-field trod 
Unreliant of Justice, of Freedom, or God. 

Nor ever for vict'ry alone do they fight, 
But the cause of humanity, freedom, and right — 
The cause of O'Connell, of Wallace, and Tell, 
And of every brave heart who for Liberty fell ; 

TKe cause of mankind — and it shall be sustained, 
Though the blood of our hearts should in torrents be 

drained : 
Though tyrants with traitors unnumbered unite, 
We, undaunted, will meet them for God and the right- 



rtow's u)Q (^)ime ; be Clp and 



'oin< 



Though Old Time my hand has shaken, 
With the pen it still can guide ; 

Some to arm it may awaken 

Who will fight on Freedom's side. 



WE ARE COMING. 207 



If but one, at my endeavor, 

Springs to beat oppression down, 

Sacred in my heart forever, 
I will use him as my own. 

One in number's but a trifle, 
Yet we may from history learn, 

One brave heart and one good rifle 
May the scale of victory turn. 



W 



e are VJomint 



We are coming by the thousands, 
As our brothers came before — 

Who well redeemed their manly pledge 
On many a field of gore. 

From the woodland and the city, 
From the mountain and the glen, 

We are coming, coming, coming — 
Twice five hundred thousand men. 

All our bugle-notes are ringing, 
And the cry is, Still we come ; 

While from every hill and valley 
Echoes Freedom's larum drum. 

On the ocean, lake, and rivers 
Floats the banner of the free ; 

We are coming, coming, coming — 
The true sons of Liberty. 



208 PATRIOTIC. 



Lo ! a million gallant spirits 

Armed in Freedom's holy cause, 

To impale the heart of Treason, 
And sustain our nation's laws, 

To protect the world's asylum, 
In defense of all that 's dear, 

We are coming, coming, coming — 
We are coming ; we are here ! 

We are here to fight for Freedom, 
And where'er our banners wave, 

By the stars now floating o'er us, 
We will know no man a slave ! 

We are coming, will be coming, 
We who never bent the knee, 

Till Maine replies to Oregon, 
All 's well ; our country 's free — 

Until all domestic traitors 

Feel the sword they dared defy, 

And foreign nations love or fear 
This land of Liberty. 

We are coming, coming, coming — 
We are coming ; we are here : 

Let the rebel tyrants tremble 
When our earthquake tread is near ! 

We are coming, coming, coming — 
And the flag that o'er us waves 

Shall adorn the Ark of Freedom, 
Or enshroud us in our graves. 



Sept. 16, 1862. 



FIGHT ON FOR LIBERTY. 209 



Piar/f on for [liberty. 



A colored soldier in Tennessee was mortally wounded. He told his officer that 
he could not live, but would die fighting for the flag of Liberty, and con- 
tinued to discharge his rifle till he fell dead on the field of glory. 

(Tune — Auld Lang Syne.) 

The ball had crushed a vital part — 

He could not long survive ; 
But, with a brave and loyal heart, 
For victory still would strive : 

For victory still would strive, 

For victory still would strive ; 

But, with a brave and loyal heart, 

For victory still would strive. 

His rifle 'gainst the traitor foe 
With deadly aim would ply, 
And, till his life-blood ceased to flow, 
Fight on for liberty : 

Fight on for liberty ! 
Fight on for liberty ! 
And, till his life-blood ceased to flow, 
Fight on for liberty ! 

His skin was of the ebon hue, 

His heart was nobly brave ; 
To country, flag, and freedom true, 

He would not live a slave : 



210 PATRIOTIC. 



He would not live a slave ; 
He would not live a slave ; 
To country, flag, and freedom true, 
He would not live a slave. 

His rifle flashed — a traitor falls, 

While death is in his eye ; 
He bravely to his comrades calls, 
" Fight on for liberty !" 

Fight on for liberty ! 
Fight on for liberty ! 
He bravely to his comrades calls, 
" Fight on for liberty ! 

He looked upon his bannered sign, 

He bowed his noble head ; 

Farewell, beloved flag of mine, 

Then fell among the dead : 

Then fell among the dead, 

Then fell among the dead ; 

Farewell, beloved flag of mine, 

Then fell among the dead. 

His comrades will remember well 

The hero's battle-cry, 
As in the arms of Death he fell — 
" Fight on for liberty ! 

Fight on for liberty ! 
Fight on for liberty ! 
As in the arms of Death he fell — 
"Fight on for liberty! 



SHALL WE FORGET THEM? NEVER! 211 

And still for liberty and laws 
His comrades will contend, 
Till victory crowns the righteous cause, 
And tyrant powers shall end : 

And tyrant powers shall end, 
And tyrant powers shall end ; 
Till victory crowns the righteous cause, 
And tyrant power shall end. 

Though low in earth the martyr lies, 

Still rings his battle-cry ; 
From hill to hill the echo flies, 
" Fight on for liberty ! " 

Fight on for liberty ! 
Fight on for liberty ! 
From hill to hill the echo flies, 
" Fight on for liberty ! " 



) r>a 1 1 We Poraet feriem ? ffcever ! 



(Air — Soldier's Return.) 

The bugles 'woke the echoes 'round 

Our humble rustic dwelling ; 
And promptly at the thrilling sound, 

His heart with ardor swelling, 
Our gallant boy the rifle grasped, 

To go where cannons rattle — 
The clinging bands of love unclasped 

To meet the front of battle. 



212 PATRIOTIC. 



His country's blessing with him goes, 

Her banner floating o'er him, 
And warm the supplication rose, 
" Our father's God, restore him ! 
In danger's path, where duty led, 

'Gainst cold and hunger striving, 
The naked Earth the stripling's bed, 

The rain-storm o'er him driving — 

The toilsome march, the rugged way, 

The foeman's battle round him, 
Yet still where duty led the way 

His comrades ever found him. 
A righteous cause his heart sustains, 

That beats with faith untiring ; 
The love of country warms his veins, 

The Pilgrim's blood inspiring. 

In vain, by barb'rous murders done, 

His foemen would appall him ; 
The patriot soldier marches on 

Where Freedom's bugles call him. 
But hark ! there sounds the muffled drum ; 

The soldier's dirge is swelling ; 
The mournful tidings hither come, 

And reach our humble dwelling. 

Your faithful son the battle strife 
Met, where his country bade him, 

Unscathed, till fever preyed on life : 
In honor's bed they 've laid him. 



SHALL WE FORGET THEM? NEVER! 213 

Mourn not for him ; his living name 

The. meed of praise awarded 
Is graven on the rock of fame, 

To latest time recorded. 

Though doomed in Freedom's cause to fall, 

And veiled in death's cold regions, 
Again he '11 hear the trumpet's call, 

And join the immortal legions. 
Though thousands swell the martyr host, 

Shall we forget them ? Never ! 
The humblest name shall not be lost — 

Their light will shine forever. 

And millions yet, with patriot pride, 

Will read th' ennobling story, 
How their brave kindred fought or died, 

And sing their songs of glory. 
And while a relic shall remain 

Who fought for Freedom's banner 1 
A grateful country will sustain, 

A Nation's heart will honor. 

Then rally 'round your father's flag, 

Brave sons of noblest sires, 
Nor let your patriot spirits lag 

Till life's last spark expires. 
That flag, by daring courage gained 

'Gainst tyrant power contending, 
Your children's birthright, leave unstained, 

Or bravely die defending. 

June 13, 1863. 



214 PATRIOTIC. 



'ecoration Day, 1 O /4. 



'/■ 



The spirit asks, Can dry bones live? 

Through faith our eyes can see 
That He who made them life can give, 

To live, our God, to thee. 

From year to year we seek these mounds 
Where our loved comrades lie : 

Beneath these consecrated grounds, 
To us they did not die. 

From year to year with flowers we strew 
These tear bedewed graves, 

And our fidelity renew 

To our loved, honored braves. 

Though buried here beyond our sight, 

Their voices still ascend, 
And say to us, " Maintain the right; 

Our fathers' flag defend." 

The cause for which they bravely died 
Their brethren will sustain : 

The flag that ever was their pride 
Shall bear no coward stain ! 

Farewell ! farewell ! from year to year 

We leave thee not alone ; 
Our hearts are with thee, comrades dear, 

Till life's last battle 's done. 

May 30, 1S74. 



OLD ERIN AWAKE! 215 



Id Qrin Olwabe ! 



Old Erin has started again on her taps, 

And her boys are all making their liberty-caps : 

She comes in her strength like the waves on our shore, 

And regenerate Erin will stagger no more — 

Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 

St. Patrick drove out all our vermin, 't is said, 

But 'tis some we'll drive yet who are eating our bread. 

O'Connell, that task is assigned to thee, 

And now give but the signal old Erin to free — 

Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 

The vipers we nourished and fed by our toil, 
Shall be pampered no more on the Emerald Isle : 
So, Erin, prepare — for O'Connell make room ; 
He is grading the land to build Emmet a tomb — 
Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 

For Erin her rank with the nations will take — 
Her old gauntlet is ready when life is at stake ; 
Her helmet is off, and her bosom is bare, 
But her shield is of proof against tyranny's spear — 
Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 

Her herald advances with trumpet in hand, 
And she waits but the signal and word of command : 
She stands like a queen in her beauty and might, 
And her motto is, Freedom, and God for the right — 
Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 



216 PATRIOTIC. 



Brave Erin is ready — she fears not a scar ; 
And now, boys, for her Slogan and Erin go bragh. 
" On, on for old Erin ! " resounds from afar, 
For old Erin mavourneen, dear Erin go bragh — 
Huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! huzza ! 



] \)e Plaa of our [feat 



anon. 



All hail to the glorious flag of our nation, 

That gallantly triumphed o'er Albion*s crown, 

And gained by its prowess the world's approbation 
When tyranny's colors went hopelessly down ; — 

The flag that at Bunker, at Monmouth, and Eutaw 
Our noble old fathers baptized with their blood, 

And, pledging their lives and their honor anew for, 
Both tyrants and traitors undaunted withstood. 

At Bennington, York, Saratoga, and Trenton 
Our patriot heroes this banner upheld, 

And death or their ever-dear liberty bent on, 

The doubts and the fears of their country dispelled 

The flag of the free, that destroyed the delusion 
That England the ocean might claim for her own, 

When Hull, gallant Hull, in the old Constitution, 
Sunk Britain's bold frigate, the Guerriere, down ; 



THE FLAG OF OUR NATION. 217 

When Jackson at Orleans a vict'ry effected, 
Despite the great bluster of Pakenham's boast, 

And booty and beauty so bravely protected, 

Triumphant o'er Wellington's much-vaunted host ; 

The flag that rose over the horns of the Crescent, 
And made the piratical colors down haul : 

The tyrant demanded for tribute a present ; 
We gave it, with interest, in powder and ball, 

And taught the barbarian rovers of ocean 

Respect for the flag of the brave and the free — 

That powder and shot was the unfailing portion 
We gave for the freedom and rights of the sea ; — 

The flag that in Mexico daringly flaunted, 

And over its loftiest battlements rose, 
Sustained by the men who, with courage undaunted, 

Defied and subdued a brave nation of foes ! 

Oh ! wave it aloft ! let it float as our token, 
Respected and honored on every far shore, 

That slavery's yoke has been shattered and broken — 
That tyranny fails, and can triumph no more. 

Uphold and surround it, you gallant defenders ; 

Salute it with rev'rence, affection, and pride — 
The banner of freedom, that never surrenders, 

Ne'er was, and can never be, safely defied. 

The stripes for our foes we display ; they have felt them : 
Our stars are the emblems of glory and light. 

Let tyrants remember the blows we have dealt them — 
Remember, take warning, and quail at the sight. 



218 PATRIOTIC. 



They fear — well they may — the joint strength of our 

nation ; 
To scatter our stars they have foolishly tried ; 

But, fixed as the heavens our great Constellation — 
'Tis one, and can never, no, never divide. 

The spirit of Washington faithfully hovers 
Wherever the flag of his country 's unfurled, 

And Liberty welcomes and smiles on its lovers ; 
By thousands they come, from the ends of the world. 

Huzza for our liberty — Heaven-blessed banner ! 

Huzza for the ark of the brave and the free ! 
Our tempest-proof ship has a world's crew to man her, 

By nature the lords of the earth and the sea. 



* ANTI-SLAVERY * 



^^^^^B 








Were o a Yankee i ffeaid 



en. 



Were I a Yankee maiden, 

And a drop of blood could boast 
Allied to that which warmed the hearts 

Of freedom's Pilgrim host, 
While, on the free and sacred land 

Their toil and courage won, 
A relic of their worth remained 

To fix the affections on, 

I would not be a Southron's bride, 

To own a wretched slave : 
Before I'd share a tyrant's bed, 

I 'd share a freeman's grave ! 
What shame and sorrow must await 

The vain slaveholder's bride, 
To eat the slave's tear-moistened bread 

The bitter curse to bide : 



To feel the deep and damning thought 
Suffuse her crimsoned cheek 

That she it is who guides the lash, 
And tramples on the weak : 



224 ANTI-SLAVERY. 



To know that all her gaudy dress 
Is striped with blood and tears ; 

To know that every groan ascends, 
And that th' Eternal hears : 

To know a hair-suspended sword 

Hangs o'er her guilty head, 
And all her life and honors guard 

Its weak and brittle thread : 
To know that in her fatherland — 

The dwelling of the free — 
Her dearest friends would blush to show 

A despot sympathy : 

To know her meanest slave would meet 

A welcome on that shore 
Where she, a stigma on her race, 

Could find a home no more ! 
Oh, ne'er may Freedom's lilied rose 

With Slavery's nightshade twine : 
Accursed be the unhallowed rites 

At Slavery's Moloch-shrine. 



ines 

Written after visiting the Ladies' Anti-Slavery Fair at Weymouth. 



Our fathers, when contending for those rights which 

nature gave, 
Cheered on by noble woman, spurned the fetters of the 

slave. 



LINES. 225 

On many a desperate battle-field the banner of the fair, 
Emblazoned by their patriot hands, and tendered with a 

prayer, 
Went foremost in the bloody fight, and led our gallant 

sires 
To guard that pledge of victory amidst the cannon fires. 
No lame excuse was offered then, no coward took to 

flight ; 
They read in every woman's eye, "In God's name, to the 

fight ! " 
Again the flag of liberty is floating in the air, 
And forth the maid and matron come the dangerous strife 

to share. 
Again, with patient hope, they come to bear the toiling 

part, 
Where Liberty presents a foe to show the eagle heart — 
With zeal that cannot falter, and with faith that will not 

yield, 
A firm, unbroken phalanx, that 's forever in the field ; 
A force that shames the tyrant, while it shakes his coward 

frame, 
And shows him that his destiny is scorn, defeat, and 

shame. 
And shall the sons of sires who disdained to wear a chain, 
Desert the flag of Liberty, that 's now unfurled again ? — 
Desert the field where woman's voice awakes the thrilling 

cry, 
And calls on all that 's man on earth to strike for Liberty ? 
Oh ! tell it not in Plymouth, lest our father's rock should 

speak, 
And bring a blush of crimson hue to every craven's cheek ! 



226 ANTI-SLA VER Y. 



Oh ! tell it not in Charlestown, lest the dust again have birth, 
And Bunker's monument should sink beneath the heaving 

earth ! 
In vain are all those trophies which as Freedom's sons you 

boast, 
If now you falter ; liberty and honor all are lost. 
Oh ! never let that stigma sound above our fathers' graves, 
But let our earthquake voice be heard, This land shall bear 

no slave ! 



(splavery, 

(Spoken at the Weymouth Sabbath-School.) 

Scene — A plantation in South Carolina. Gasper mocking the groans of 

his slave, who has been whipped. 
Enter Oscar. 
Oscar. — Friend Gasper, you are Southern born, 
But can you mock at such a deed ? 
Behold your slave all gashed and torn — 

(Gasper looks _, . . , , _ 

scornfully.) Nay, cast not here that look of scorn ; 

I weep to see a brother bleed, 
brother!") A brother ! aye, a brother : true 

Our God, his Father — thine and mine — 
Has made his skin of darker hue, 
But to our great Creator's view 
His soul may be as white as thine. 
(Gasper: " Faintheart!" you call me. Hear me, friend — 

"Fainthearted !") , f - . JT ' „ 

It friend I may a tyrant call : 
Henceforth, whoever I offend, 
'Gainst hateful slavery I '11 contend ; 



THE FUGITIVE SLAVE. 227 

For Freedom stand, or with her fall ! 
Adieu : I leave your Southern clime ; 

For all the land that despots own 
I would not share your cherished crime, 

Nor wade amidst its sickening slime 
To win a monarch's jeweled throne. 
I '11 to the North, my native land, — 

There Freedom's star is shining still, — 
And join that firm, devoted band 
Whose beacon fires, by Freedom fanned, 

Illumine every rugged hill. 
A curse is in your Southern sky ; 

A curse is on your Southern shore ; 
Through all your groves fell curses sigh , 
And deep and hard the curse will lie 

Till blighting slavery is no more ! 



R ■+■ Si 
PuaiTive (splave. 



A DIALOGUE. 

Scene — Front of a cottage. Dart on the lookout. 

[Enter Deacon Thoughtful.'] 

Deacon — Son, what 's the matter ? what goes ill ? 

I thought I heard the cry of hounds. 
Dart — Look, father! look! along the hill — 

Oh jemmy ! — how that nigger bounds ! 

Look, father ! see the fellow run ; 

He 's coming here, as sure 's a gun. 



228 ANTI-SLA VER V. 



[Enter slave D drew ell. ~\ 
Darewell — Christian, I am a runaway ; 

My master's hounds are on my track ! 

To you for mercy now I pray — 

Oh ! send me not to slavery back ! 

My strength is spent ; the dogs are near ; 

For Christ's sake give me shelter here! 
Deacon — Poor fugitive ! there is a law 

To fine me more than all I have, 

If on myself the risk I draw 

By giving shelter to a slave. 

My country's laws I must not break — 

No, no, not e'en for Jesus' sake. 
Dart — Father, let 's seize him ; the reward 

Is fifty dollars, all in cash. 

I '11 help you tie him — here's a cord ; 

We '11 stop his whining with a lash. 

Come, nigger, yield yourself at once, 

Or with this stick I '11 break your sconce. 
Darewell — Hear me, young ruffian — stay your hand ; 

I now am free, and so will die : 

The dogs shall rend me where I stand 

Ere I resign my liberty. 

I was told Christians here reside ; 

May Heaven forgive my faithless guide. 

[ Going. ~\ 
Deacon — Stay, fugitive ; I should be one, 

For I have taken the Christian's name. 

Put down your stick, my graceless son ; 

We both are wickedly to blame. 

Should I reject his prayer, for gain, 

My prayer for mercy, too, were vain. 



THE FUGITIVE SLAVE. 229 

Forgive me, brother — coward fear 
Impelled me to refuse your prayer ; 
But conscience whispers in my ear, 
Your God and mine is everywhere. 
Should you to ruin forth be driven, 
How could I dare to hope for heaven ? 
Come in, whate'er my means afford 
Of food and shelter, here you'll find ; 
'Tis the commandment of our Lord, 
Denied but by the willful blind. 
In sheltering you my all 's at stake ; 
But yet come in, for Jesus' sake. 
Darewell — I fain would thank you ; my full heart 
Can feel, but cannot now express 
The gratitude it would impart 
For kindness in my deep distress ; 
But He who black and white has made, 
Will leave no generous act unpaid. 

\_They enter the cottage. Dart alone. .] 

Dart — Hello ! what now — that 's not so bad, 
If 'taint a passing conscience fit. 
I 'm rather proud of my old Dad ! 
That's what I 'm after calling grit : 
'T is risking life to screen a slave. 
I see that Christians can be brave. 
My father 's in for 't — spurns the chink ; 
Old dad's a Christian, sure's a gun! 
They must be clever folks, I think ; 
I almost wish that I was one. 
To help the fellow in his need -- 
Han? me ! but 't was a noble deed. 



230 ANTI-SLA VER Y. 



I '11 put the hunters off the track, 
And send them blundering through the wood ; 
They shall not have their victim back, 
Nor feast their dogs with human blood. 
My father 's right, as sure 's a gun ! 
Well done ! old dad ; well done! well done! 
Nov. 21, 1857. 



f trje m unfed 



iscaoe me 1 lunied @jiave 



Who is it that flies, like the rush of the wind, 
O'er briar and brake, with the hunters behind ? 
With looks of wild terror, through forest and fen, 
He springs o'er the cataract deep in the glen. 

The hounds are at fault ; he has baffled the snare : 
Securely he lies in the catamount's lair. 
There, panting and thirsty, and hungry and worn, 
Lies the fugitive slave, who to freedom was born, * 

Concealed till the shadows of evening appear, 

When again through the forest he springs like the deer. 

He follows no path ; but the bright Northern star 

Is his lanthorn and guide on his journey afar. 

Victoria! he looks for protection to thee, 
While his heart is determined to die or live free. 
Oh ! Thou who art mighty to rescue and save, 
Give wings to the feet of the fugitive slave. 

* " All men are born free and equal." — Jefferson. 



EMANCIPATION. 231 



The morning had dawned ere the bright lake he viewed, 
As, panting for breath, by his hunters pursued, 
He sprang to the boat where the ferryman stood, 
But fainting and speechless, and streaming with blood. 

The boatman, astonished, obeyed the mute sign ; 
He sprang to his oars — he pulled hard for the line. 
But hark ! there 's a cry from the land of the slave ; 
Two horsemen are calling aloud o'er the wave, — 

" Return, on your life ! you 've our chattel on board !" 
But the boatman pulled stronger, nor answered a word. 
He read his warm thanks in the fugitive's eye, 
As his boat skimmed the wave like a bird in the sky. 

Huzza for the slave! the keel strikes — he is free! 
Blessed land ! as he touched thee he sank on his knee ; 
His heart rose to Heaven, his lips kissed the sod — 
" For freedom I thank thee, my Saviour, my God ! " 



^mancipation, 



(Tune — Auld Lang Syne.)* 

'Tis done — the righteous deed is done, 

Proclaimed the jubilee ; 
Columbia hails her faithful son, 

The father of the free. 

* For Chorus, repeat last two lines of each verse. 



232 ANTI-SLA VER Y. 



Cho. — The father of the free, 
The father of the free ; 
Columbia hails her faithful son, 
The father of the free. 

Aloft the signal flag is raised, 
The swift-winged tidings fly ; 
" Glory to God ! his name be praised ! " 
Unnumbered tongues reply. 

Fair Freedom lifts her drooping head ; 

A smile her tears restrain, 
Though mourning still her noble dead, 

Who died to break her chain. 

A blessing on our chieftain's name, 

Who gave the great command ; 
Engrave it on the rock of Fame, 
" He freed his native land." 

And let the list'ning nations hear, 
Throughout creation's bound, 

That Freedom has her dwelling here, 
Her land is holy ground. 

A refuge for the suff 'ring poor, 

A home for the oppressed, 
She opens wide her friendly door, 

And feeds them from her breast. 

No more, his eyes with weeping dim, 

The slave unpitied pines ; 
The stripes and stars now shelter him- 

The sun of Freedom shines. 



ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE WEST INDIES. 233 

Huzza ! proclaim the jubilee ! 
Let grateful anthems rise ! 
" Huzza ! Columbia's land is free ! " 
Re-echoes through the skies. 

Now let the host of traitors come, 

With foreign foes allied ; 
One tap on Freedom's larum drum, 

The world is on our side. 



bolition of ^plavery in tpe West ondies. 



When late, on Western India's shore, 
The tortured slave for freedom pined, 

Ah ! who can tell his sorrows o'er, 

To slavery's countless wrongs consigned ? 

No joy the morning brought to him — 
To him the evening gave no rest ; 

His cup of grief o'erflowed the brim ; 
His heart was with'ring in his breast. 

But hark ! the voice of Mercy cries, 
" Break every yoke — the oppressed set free ! " 
The slave lifts up his thankful eyes, 
And bends to earth his grateful knee. 



234 ANTI-SLA VER Y. 



The chains are falling from his hands ; 

His heart with new-born rapture springs : 
Before his God the freed man stands, 

And hark ! 'tis Freedom's song he sings : - 

" Praise to God, who ever reigns ; 
Praise to Him who burst our chains : 
For the priceless blessing given, 
Thanks, our grateful thanks, to Heaven. 

Here no more the bloody scourge 
Afric's fainting sons shall urge ; 
Here no more shall galling chains 
Wear our flesh with fest'ring pains ; 

Here no more the frantic slave 
Fly for refuge to the grave : 
Freedom comes to banish fear ; 
Hallelujah ! God is here ! 

Long and loud with praises fill 
Deepest glen and highest hill ; 
Mountain peak and sea-girt shore 
Echo, "Slavery's reign is o'er! " 

Kindred, country, now we claim, 
Praise to God's beloved name ; 
Father, for this jubilee 
Thanks, eternal thanks, to thee ! 



Aug. 4, 1843. 



ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE EAST INDIES. 235 



bolition of ^plavery in trje Qast iJndi 



es. 



Again the harp of Freedom sounds ; 

The startled world with echo rings ! 
From jeweled India's farthest bounds 
The ransomed millions sweep the strings. 
Glory to God, the struggle 's o'er ! 
The Indies own a slave no more. 

Queen of the Isles ! another gem 

Is added to thy sunny brow, 
The fairest in thy diadem ; 

It makes thee Queen of India now. 
A grateful nation's freedom-cry 
Bursts, like a meteor, through the sky. 

What rapture now their bosoms swell ! 

They stretch their arms — they feel them free ! 
None but the ransomed tongue can tell 
The joys of Freedom's jubilee. 

Victoria ! 'round thine honored throne 
A brighter glory ne'er has shone. 

The despot on his guarded bed 

Shall from his dreamy slumber start, 
The sword of vengeance o'er his head, 
And terror in his guilty heart ; 

But thou, throughout thy wide domain, 
Hast not a slave to curse thy reign. 



236 ANTI-SLA VER V. 



The sun, that on his journey rolls, 

And o'er thine empire ne'er goes down, 
That lights at times the distant poles, 
But ever smiles on Britain's crown, 
Looks down on many a despot's grave, 
But shines not on a British slave. 

Columbia ! will you be the last 

Oppression's iron yoke to break ? 
Shall scorning nations on thee cast 
The withering stigma ? No — awake ! 
Shake off the fetters from your knee, 
And rise from blighting slavery free ! 

In vain where gallant Warren bled 

You boast of victory o'er a throne : 
'Tis mock'ry o'er the martyred dead 
To rear the monumental stone, 

While every wind that fans their graves 
Is poisoned with the breath of slaves ! 



Aug. 4, 1 1 



Preedom. 



Written for and sung at the Anti-Slavery Picnic at Dorchester, Aug i, il 
(Tune — Patriotic Fire-cry.) 

Hark ! the cry Emancipation ! 

Freedom lifts her voice to-day : 
May it echo through the nation, 

Till the hardest hearts obey — 



FREEDOM. 237 

Till the men of lofty station 
At her feet their offerings lay. 
Cho. — La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. 

On this day the notes of gladness 
Rose, like incense, from the isles. 

Banished was the cause of sadness — 
Slavery's scourge no more defiles ; 

Tears that stung the brain to madness, 
Freedom changed to joyful smiles. 

Lift the voice with heart-emotion ; 

Not a note shall e'er be lost ; 
Freedom's hymn of pure devotion 

Yet shall shake this iron coast — 
Like the drops that form the ocean, 

Yet shall number Freedom's host. 

O'er our land while human cattle 

Labor, bleed, and hope in vain, 
While the despot claims his chattel, 

Struggle still to break his chain. 
Gird the loins ! prepare for battle : 

God is with us I strive again. 



* TEMPERANCE * 



.Id Water 



Come, listen, while I of cold water will sing — 
For what with its worth can compare ? 

How sparkling it flows from the clear, bubbling spring, 
Commingling its sweets with the air. 

When, thirsty and footworn, I traveled along, 

No riv'let or dwelling was there ; 
My poor panting dog lolled his fever-scorched tongue, 

And snuffed the hot wind in despair. 

When, far in the distance, a something looked bright, 

Reflecting the rays of the sun, 
I hastened my pace, overjoyed with delight, 

While Tray started off on the run. 



Though fainting and weary, I followed him near 
He plunged to his ears in the tide. 

A cool, crystal fountain was bubbling up here ; 
I sat myself down by its side. 



242 TEMPERANCE. 

With prudence, I bathed both my hands and my face, 

Then laid my parched lips to the brink, 
And thanked the good God of the whole human race, 
Who poured out his treasure in that desert place, 
And gave me cool water to drink. 

Nov. 25, 1848. 



>ere Oame for trje I ledae, 



(Tune — Erin go Bragh.) 

There came for the pledge a poor victim of folly; 

His face bore the marks of contention and strife : 
With his children he came, his poor Oscar and Rolla, 

And her, the poor sufferer, his soul-stricken wife. 
Oh ! sad was his heart as around him he gazed ; 
His wild, staring eyes with hard drinking were glazed ; 
He felt like a stranger, ashamed and amazed, 

And seemed undecided to tarry or go. 

Intemperance had set her foul seal on his features, 

And heart-grinding poverty claimed him her own. 
You scarce could believe he was one of God's creatures, 

He looked so unmanly, so wretched, and lone. 
He asked for the pledge with a voice of petition, 
And he eyed it all over with a look of contrition, 
Till meekly he came to the prudent decision 
'T were safest to sign it, and 'scape from his foe. 



THERE CAME FOR THE PLEDGE. 243 

He stretched forth his hand, that with palsy was shaking, 

And scarce could his fingers support the light pen. 
He sobbed as he wrote, for his stout heart was breaking : 

He signed — and again he is numbered with men. 
Intently he gazed on the record before him, 
While looked his poor wife as she fain would adore him, 
Convinced that the pledge would to virtue restore him, 
And give her own husband again to her heart. 

" 'T is done ! " he exclaimed, while his Miriam clung 'round 
him, 
And, kissing his fingers, his little ones stand. 
" 'T is done ; never more shall the rum-thief — confound 
him! — 
Grow rich by the toil of an Irishman's hand." 
As one that is roused from a dream that oppresses, 
And wakes to the joy of his loved ones' caresses, 
So looked the reformed as his Miriam he blesses, 
And vows from his promise to never depart. 

There came to the church a fair daughter of Erin, 
While two lovely children her footsteps attend ; 

'Tis she, the once wretched, but now happy Miriam 
Who leans on the arm of her husband and friend. 

There 's a tear on her cheek from the fountain of pleasure, 

A smile on her lip as she looks on her treasure ; 

While gratitude springs in her heart, without measure, 
For blessings that blot out the memory of pain. 

They came to the altar where penitents gather, 
And breathe their thanksgiving to God's holy name, 

That he, the loved husband, and now honored father, 
Is plucked like a brand from the furnace of shame. 



244 TEMPERANCE. 



Oh ! who that has looked on a scene so endearing, 
For lucre would ruin a prospect so cheering, 
And blight the fond hopes of the sweet rose of Erin, 
And lure a freed soul to his fetters again ? 



Dec. 14, 1842. 



\)Q ^)wond its 1 Ifeany C^)r)ousands ^playj 



The sword its many thousand slays, 

And marble monuments arise 
Engraven with the victims' praise, 

And even lauding to the skies. 

But those who by intemperance fall, 
Consigned to earth, neglected rot — 

For none are anxious to recall 
The memory of a buried sot. 

Though genius marked him for her own, 
And generous deeds were his at times, 

Genius for folly can't atone, 

Nor wash away the drunkard's crimes. 

If father, brother, son, or friend, 
Intemperance leaves so deep a stain, 

When death has sealed the drunkard's end, 
None wish to hear his name again. 



ELVIRA. 245 

To hearts the drunkard caused to ache, 
Remembrance ever brings a pang — 

Their former suff'rings to awake, 

More dreaded than the serpent's fang ! 

Thus, whether with the quick or dead, 

The drunkard is the cause of woe : 
Though tears in vain for him were shed, 

They may not, will not cease to flow. 

For who can think without a tear 

Of one he loved, who madly gave 
All that a man should value here, 

To fill a loathesome drunkard's grave ? 



Ivira. 



(Tune — Beattie's Hermit.) 

T was that time of night when the wolf quits his den, 
And beings as soulless are fleecing their prey ; 

When silence bears rule in the dwellings of men, 
And prowls the dark ruffian, to plunder or slay. 

'T was that heart-sickening time when no mortal would 
choose 

Abroad to encounter the pestilent blight ; 
And few would the humble man's shelter refuse, 

If offered protection on that dismal night. 



246 TEMPERANCE. 

When traveling, I saw a poor female, alone, 
In sadness pursuing her danger-girt way. 

Poor wanderer ! she knew me ; I heard her deep moan : 
'Twas the drunkard's poor wife ; 'twas the rumseller's 
prey. 

" Oh ! whither so late are you wending," I cried, 
"Surrounded by dangers, alone, and in tears?" 
" I 'm seeking my husband," she sobbing replied ; 
" My children are starving — my own little dears ! 

"For my husband has been to the tavern since morn, 
Carousing, and spending our earnings for rum. 
He promised — but ah ! he has often forsworn — 
That home to his children ere night he would come. 

" I heed not the dangers that lurk in my path ; 
I fear not for sufferings more great than I feel ; 
I have drank to the dregs the full cup of his wrath — 
For who can the drunkard's wife's sorrows reveal ? " 

Poor girl ! In the brightness of life's happy morn 

I knew her, the loved and admired of all. 
How altered — of all her sweet blandishments shorn! 
How fair were her prospects — how hopeless her fall ! 

When married, her husband, though thoughtless, was 
kind, 

And love, for a time, could his failings conceal, 
Till rum, the destroyer of body and mind, 

Begirt him with fetters far stronger than steel. 



THROUGH ALL OUR WILD RAMBLES. 247 

She went to the groggery ; her husband was there, 
Too drunk to be roused from his sleep on the floor. 

The rumseller laughed at her cry of despair, 

And thrust the poor sufferer away from his door. 

Oh, alas ! poor Elvira, thy sorrows were great ; 

No pen can your heart-rending anguish portray : 
That heart was too soft to endure its hard fate — 

The grave has closed over the rumseller's prey. 

Oh! when shall that curse be expelled from our land? 

Arise ! O my country, and wipe out the stain, 
That mothers and children no longer may stand 

Beseeching the rumseller's mercy in vain ! 

The earth with the blood of the victims is red ; 

The pestilence springs from their viperous lair; 
The ocean is paved with the bones of their dead, 

While thousands are falling each day in the snare. 



^Qrouat} all our wild l\ambles. 



(Tune — Sweet Home.) 

Through all our wild rambles in search after bliss, 
Experience informs us there 's no place like this : * 



Alluding to a temperance meeting, the author being present. 



248 TEMPERANCE. 

A charm for the soul seems to hallow the place, 
And open our hearts to the whole human race, 

This ? yes, this ; 'tis this — there 's no place like this ; 
There 's no place like this ! 

A brother who breaks from his festering chain, 
And seeks for that freedom he scarce hopes to gain, 
Kind friends and protection will find in this hall, 
And freedom of speech that 's awarded to all. 

This ? yes, this ; 't is this — there 's no place like this ; 
There's no place like this! 

The slave of Intemperance, though chained to her car 
As victors of old dragged their trophies of war, 
If he would be free let him whisper our call ; 
We' 11 tender the pledge, and his fetters will fall. 

This ? yes, this ; 't is this — there 's no charm like this ; 
There 's no charm like this ! 

To all we the hand of affection extend, 
And hail every man as a brother and friend ; 
The seal of our God on his forehead we trace, 
And ask not his title, his sect, or his race. 

This? yes, this; 'tis this; there's no seal like this; 
There 's no seal like this ! 

Men, women, and children, together we join 
To drive out the curse of rum, brandy, and wine, 
Experience assures us that Temperance is bliss ; 
Then come to her altar, there 's no place like this. 

This? yes, this ; 'tis this ; there's no place like this ; 
There's no place like this ! 



THE POOR LONE ORPHAN BOY. 249 



$)\)Q I oor Llone Orphan Boy. 



(Tune — The Bereaved Slave- Mother.) 

Away from the home to his infancy known, 

The poor child of the drunkard to fortune is thrown ; 

Alone and forsaken, by grief overtaken, 

The poor, lone orphan boy. 

No mother consoles him in sorrow or pain, 
And the voice of his father he hears not again, 
Alone in the city — an object of pity, 
The poor, lone orphan boy. 

He pines for the home where he sported at will, 
And his mother, though base, was his own mother still. 
That name to his brain clings; 'tis bound to the heart- 
strings 
Of the lone orphan boy. 

The grave has closed over his hope and his joy, 
And he wanders the fatherless, motherless boy. 
Surrounded by danger, he sees but the stranger, 
The poor, lone orphan boy. 

Guilt opens her portals ; he enters her door : 

Who now will defend him or seek to restore? 

The law will consign him — the bolts will confine him, 

The poor, lone orphan boy. 



250 TEMPERANCE. 

What hope now remains to redeem his lost name ? 
He's consigned to the lodge of corruption and shame. 
Death soon ends his career, and no eye sheds a tear 
For the lone orphan boy. 

Oh ! you who have children, suppose it your case, 
And in fancy behold your own child in his place ! 
Intemperance pursuing may bring to like ruin 
Your poor, lone orphan boy. 



Wirt. 



A drunkard lay upon the ground, 
A noble wreck abandoned there ; 

And not a friendly hand was found 
To screen him in his deep despair. 

A maiden passed of peerless grace, 
And, while her bosom heaved a sigh, 

She with her kerchief veiled his face, 
Sealed with a pearl-drop from her eye. 

Another eye the act had seen, 

And Wirt, to sense restored, was told ; 
Her name was on the kerchief screen, — 

A name that should be blazed in gold. 



THE MOURNING WIFE. 251 

That name had sunk into his heart, 

Expelling all that had enslaved : 
He vowed to act the manly part, 

Reformed — and noble Wirt was saved! 

Oh ! what a glorious prize was here, 
To woo and win that peerless maid ! 

Two hearts, cemented with a tear, 
Were on Love's holy altar laid. 



ournin 



? 



(Tune — From a Ruin thou art Singing.) 

On the hearthstone she sits weeping, 

Poor, hapless, mourning wife : 
Over her pale cheeks are creeping 

Tears that drain the fount of life. 
Why sits she lonely in her tears, 

With dread forebodings rife ? 
Why looks she struggling with her fears, 

Poor hapless, mourning wife — 
Poor hapless, mourning wife ! 

Her fair hopes have all departed 

Since he who was her pride 
Has made her broken-hearted — 

She is now the drunkard's bride. 
To her the future, drear and dim, 

Admits no hope in life ; 



>52 TEMPERANCE. 



Her joys were centred all in him, 
Poor hapless, mourning wife — 
Poor hapless, mourning wife ! 

Stay, O man, to ruin winging ; 

Hear Mercy's voice in time : 
Another 's to thee clinging ; 

Must she perish by thy crime ? 
Repent, the wretched thing thou art, 

For her once dear as life ; 
Bring back her husband to her heart, 

Poor hapless, mourning wife — 

Poor hapless, mourning wife ! 



•ea-l any (<pona. 



Written for a Washingtonian Tea Party, in Weymouth. 



(Tune — The Guardian Genius of the Swiss.) 

For temperance here again we meet, 

And wake the cheerful strain ; 
Our pledge of constancy repeat, 

And seal it o'er again. 
We love the cause ; it cheers the soul, 

And bids the spirit soar 
Above the passions' wild control, 

To be a slave no more. 

Where'er the temperance flag is borne 
A band of brothers rise, 



SURE, WON'T YOU HEAR? 253 

And smiling Plenty lifts her horn, 

And Vice, uprooted, flies. 
Industry, Health, and Joy, and Peace 

On Temperance still attend ; 
She bids the selfish passions cease — 

Makes man to man a friend. 

She spreads her mantle o'er the poor, 

And warms the widow's hearth ; 
Her silver key unlocks the door, 

And lets the prisoner forth. 
Around the world she sweeps her wings, 

Dispensing, as she flies, 
The thousand blessings that she brings 

As presents from the skies. 

Beneath her care the cottage smiles, 

And quiet reigns around ; 
Successful Art her treasure piles, 

And safety still is found. 
For all these blessings she bestows 

May grateful thanks ascend 
To Him from whom all goodness flows, 

Our Father, and our Friend. 



>ure 



, Won t Y ou Hear ? 



(Tune — Something like a Parody on "Tid re I; or, Paddy's Wedding.") 

Sure, won't you hear what jovial cheer 
We had in Norfolk County, O, 



254 TEMPERANCE. 

And how, so gay, we spent the day, 
From morning to the evening, O ? 

First, heart in hand, came Father Spear, * 
Good tidings always bringing, O ; 

While with the merry urchins' cheer 
The swarming grove was ringing, O. 

At the very moment that Father Spear heard there was 
to be a picnic in the grove, he went up to brother R. A. 
Hunt's, and told him all about it ; who jumped up in a 
giffy, put on his coat, and started off for the South Wey- 
mouth band, which came in fine style, playing a sweet little 
sort of a 

Li fal la, and li fal li, and li fal la, 
So lively, O. 

Now, there was John, and Simeon, 

Elias, Sam, and Peter, O, 
And Martin K., and F. M. A., 

Who sings about the creature, O. 
And then the girls, the lovely dears, 

Led on while bells were dinging, O, 
While with the merry urchins' cheers 

The swarming grove was ringing, O. 

Brother Jewett, it must have done your heart good to 
see the little boys and girls, stepping gaily along in rows 
of half a dozen, one after another, keeping time with the 
music that was marching on before, playing up a sweet 

little sort of a 

Li fal la, and li fal li, and li fal la, 
So lively, O. 

* Rev. J. M. Spear, the leader of tlie Cold Water Army. 



SURE, WON'T YOU HEAR? 255 

When one was asked would temperance last, 

He pointed into his pockets, O ; 
With a knowing wink he tapped the chink, 
And quoted David Crockett, O : 
*' We know we 're right," and now, my dears, 
"We'll go ahead," all singing, O, 
While with the merry urchins' cheers 
The swarming grove is ringing, O. 

When the company were all assembled Father Spear 
made a speech, setting forth the beauties of Temperance, 
and recommending "moral suasion" as the best method to 
induce people to sign the pledge, and unite together in 
love and harmony. No sooner had he mentioned the 
word love, than the lads and lasses began to cast " sheeps'- 
eyes" at each other, and every one showed by their looks 
that they didn't need either moral or legal suasion to in- 
duce them to love each other with all their hearts; while 
the musicians, who were seated in a charming bower, 
struck up a sweet little sort of a 

Li fal la, and li fal li, and li fal la, 
So lively, O. 

"When a sober set, for temperance met, 

Drank deep" says the reporter, O, 
" While cakes and fruit, with pies to boot, 
Were drowned in sparkling water, O. 
Then 'round, to be sure, didn't go the jeers 

At the rummy's cost — so stinging, O ! 
While with the merry urchins' cheers 
The swarming grove was ringing, O." 



256 TEMPERANCE. 

For the Committee, d' ye see, were resolved to do the 
thing in a genteel way. So they invited all comers to par- 
take freely of the good things set before them ; and the 
way they took hold of the cakes, pies, plums, apples, pears, 
peaches, etc., was a caution to all people how they 
place good food and drink before temperance folks ; for 
their appetites, always good, held out till the musicians, 
who had just done smacking their lips, began playing up a 
sweet little sort of a 

Li fal la, and li fal li, and li fal la, 
So lively, O. 

And then, at last — oh, unsurpassed ! — 

The merry joys of dancing, O : 
An upper-crust ball was nothing at all 

Compared with the style of their prancing, O, 
And then to see good Father Spear 

So pleased, while they were winging, O ! 
While with the merry urchins' cheers 

The swarming grove was ringing, O. 

Before they had finished their dancing, old go-to-bed 
Sol had retired behind the hills, and the full moon looked 
down with her beautiful face on the happy group below, 
who, by their looks, speech, and actions pronounced the 
whole affair to have been one of the best that was ever 
enacted for the happiness of the young, the confirma- 
tion of the old, and the promotion and encouragement of 
the good old cause of total abstinence from all that can 
intoxicate the brain, enfeeble the body, or corrupt the 
mind ; while the mingling together of happy hearts, the 
brotherly and sisterly exchange of kind sentiments, to- 



THE MOTHER'S CURSE. 257 

gether with the cheering exercise, made every one feel 
that they were all the better for the picnic, and at every 
gap in the ceremonies the joyful music struck up a sweet 
little sort of a 

Li fal la, and li fal li, and li fal la, 
So lively, O. 

While ending, now prepared to go, 

Three cheers for sparkling water, O, 
While firm they pledge the temperance wedge 

To drive, and show no quarter, O. 
And then, enough to crack your ears, 

All hands set up a singing, O, 
While with the merry urchins' cheers 

The swarming grove was ringing, O. 

So, when they had all got through with their frolic, and 
resolved to have another next year, they started off in high 
glee, laughing and singing as they went along, and making 
the hills and valleys re-echo with their glad voices, min- 
gled with the soul-stirring music of the retiring band, that 
every now and then struck up a sweet little sort of a 

Li fal la, and li fal li, and li fal la, 
So lively, O. 



>tb 



oiner s vjurse. 



Oh, the drunkard's horrid life ! 

If he has a brother, 
Father, sister, child, or wife, 

If he has a mother, 



258 TEMPERANCE. 

What must their affliction be, 
What their pain and grief, to see 
One who should their comfort be, 

Every sign of reason gone, 

On the highway tumbling down — 

Lying in the gutter ; 
Trying, incoherently, 

Filthy speech to utter ! 

With delirium tremens crazed, 
Blood-red eyes, with frenzy glazed, 
Spotted red with whiskey-stains, 
Misanthropic, addled brains — 
Frighted with the horrid glare 
Of demons' eyes, that everywhere 
Haunt him with their mocking stare ! 

Waking from a drunken course, 
What must be his dread remorse ! — 
Conscience, like a barbed dart, 

Tearing through his brain, 
Cutting through his guilty heart, 

Burning every vein ! 

What a horrid life he leads, 
Thinking of his evil deeds ! 
Not a sign of comfort there ; 
All is darkness and despair. 
He, of all mankind, can tell 
What the torturing pangs of hell ; 
These he knows, alas ! too well. 



THE MOTHER'S CURSE. 259 

Oh ! the drunkard's dreadful end, 

Lying all forlorn ! 
Scarce a mourner or a friend 

'Midst the gazing throng : 
And if o'er him tears be shed, 
' T is not that he now lies dead, 
But that he had been born, 
Or that he lived so long ! 

Hark ! upon the moaning gale, 
Lo, I hear the mother's wail — 
Wailing o'er her ruined son, 
Now his dreadful course is run — 
Fearing for his future state, 
Mourning o'er her cruel fate. 

Hark ! upon my startled ear, 

Sounds of agony and fear, 

Like a trumpet, shrill and clear ! 

Grief and horror in her eyes. 
" Curse the rumseller ! " she cries, 
" He who God and man defies ! " 

Oh ! that mother's dreadful curse ! 
Can there be a torture worse 
Than that rumseller must feel, 
Though his heart were hard as steel ? 

Wheresoe'er the wretch may be, 
On the land or on the sea, 
He must hear that awful sound 
Ever echoing around : 



260 TEMPERANCE. 

" May the evil he has wrought 
All on his own head be brought ! 
May he die a wretched sot, 
On a dunghill lie and rot ! 
May no tears for him be shed ; 
May no prayers for him be said ; 
Curse him living, curse him dead ! " 

Think not that poor mother's wail, 

Her sad cry of pain, 

Dies unheeded on the gale ; 

There's an ever list'ning ear 

That poor suff'rer's cry will hear — 

Hear, and not in vain. 
Her dread curse may cling to thee 
Like a loathsome leprosy — 

Like the mark on Cain ! 

June 7, 1873. 



\)Q \\%>o\\)QV. 



She knelt beside the lonely grave, — 

Affection well had marked the spot, — 
And her's the only prayer to save 

His soul who died a loathsome sot. 
Why bends she there, with weeping eyes, 

O'er that despised, polluted one? 
Speak soft ; her prayer to Heaven will rise,- 

A mother prays to save her son. 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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